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THE DECAMERON 


OR 
TEN DAYS’ ENTERTAINMENT OF 


BOCCACCTO 


FINE-PAPER EDITION 


ALBERT & CHARLES BONI 
NEW YORK 1926 








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AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION TO LADIES , i < ‘ob Soe ot Neeix 
PELo er LR SL DAY 

PAGR 


NovEL I.—Chappelet imposes upon the priest by a sham confession, 
and dies; and, although a very wicked fellow, was afterwards 
reputed a saint; and called St. Chappelet . : : ° _ 4 
> aii IIl.—Abraham, the Jew, at the instigation of Jeannot de 
Ivigni, goes to the court of Rome, and seeing the wickedness 
of the clergy there, returns to Paris, and becomes a Christian . £9 


_ NOVEL III,—Melchizedeck, a Jew, by a story of the three rings, 
escapes a most dangerous snare, which Saladin had prepared 
for him ; t 3 : ; : e . ‘ A ene |: i 
Aspire IV.—A monk having committed an offence, for which he 
ought to have been severely punished, saves himself by wittily 


proving his abbot guilty of the very same fault . ‘ 5 » NoES 


Nove. V.--The Marchioness of Monferrat, by an entertainment of 
hens, and some witty speeches, cures the King of France of his 
dishonourable love . i = 5 ° i : A nt a 


Nove. VI.—A plain honest man, by a jest accidentally let fall, very 
wittily reproves the hypocrisy of the clergy ‘ , : a. 


NovEL VII.—Bergamino, by telling a tale of a certain witty person 
named Primasso, very handsomely reproves the avarice which 
had lately appeared in M. Cane della Scala : A : - @§ 


NoveL VIJ1.—Gulieimo Borsiere, by a few smart words, checks the 
miserable covetousness of M. Ermino de’ Grimaldi. ; » 30 


Nove. IX.—The King of Cyprus was so much affected by the 
words of a gentlewoman of Gascogne, that from being a vicious 
prince he became very virtuous . : : : ; ; . 38 


NoveL X.—Master Albert of Bologna puts a lady to the blush, who 
thought to have done as much to him, because she perceived 
him to be amorously inclined towards her , i ; » oy 
v 


4 


vi 


CONTENTS 


THE SECOND DAY 


Nove. I,—Martellino, feigning himself to be a cripple, pretends to 


vA 


be cured by being laid upon the body of Saint Arrigo; but his 
roguery being discovered, he gets soundly beaten, and is after- 
wards apprehended, and in danger of being hangd&A, but at last 
escapes ° ° . ° : . . . . d < 


OVEL II.—Rinaldo d’Asti having been robbed, comes to Castel 


Gulielmo, where he is entertained by a widow lady, makes good 
his loss, and returns safe home . 2 . ‘ : ° 


NovEL II].—Three young gentlemen lavish away their fortunes, and 


a nephew of theirs returning home in as desperate a condition, 
falls in company with an Abbot, whom he afterwards found to 
be the King of England’s daughter, who marries him, and 
makes good his uncles’ losses, resettling them in their former 
prosperity . ‘ ° ; , . « . 


NoveL I1V.—Landolpho Ruffolo, falling into poverty, became a 


pirate, and was taken by the Genoese, and suffered shipwreck, 
but saved himself upon a cask of jewels, and was taken out of 
the sea by a woman at Corfu, and afterwards returned home 


very rich . . . . . . . : : : . 


“NoveL V.—Andreuccio, of Perugia, coming to Naples to buy 


horses, met with three remarkable accidents in one night; from 
all which he escapes, and returns with a ruby of value 


NoveEL VI.—Madam Beritola was found on an island with two 


goats, having lost her two sons, and went from thence to Luni- 
giana, where one of her sons became servant to the lord thereof ; 
and being found with his daughter, was by him sent to prison ; 
afterwards, when the country of Sicily rebelled against King 
Charles, that same son was known again by his mother, and 
was married to his master’s daughter; and his brother being 
found likewise, they both returned to great estate and credit 


VEL VII.—The Sultan of Babylon sends one of his daughters te 


S be married to the King of Algarve, who, by divers accidents in 


the space of four years fell into the hands of nine different men 
in different places. At length, being restored to her father, she 
went to the King of Algarve as a maid, and, as at first she was 
intended, to be his wife ‘ : f K j 


PAGE 


45 


48 


55 


§9 


7 


83 


CONTENTS 


Nove. VIII.—The Count d’Angiers, being falsely accused, was 
banished from France, and left his two children in different 
parts of England. Returning afterwards privately out of Ire- 
land, he found them settled in great repute; from thence he 
goes as a common servant into the King of France’s army, and 
his innocence being made public at. last, he is restored to his 
former dignity ° ° ’ ° . . . ° : . 


Nove. IX.—Bernard of Genoa is imposed upon by one Ambrose, 
loses his money, and orders his wife, who is quite innocent, to 
be put to death. She makes her escape, and goes in man’s 
dress into the service of the Sultan; there she meets with the 
deceiver ; and, sending for her husband to Alexandria, has him 
punished ; she then resumes her former habit, and returns with 
her husband rich to Genoa. ° ° . ° » ° . 


NOVEL X.—Paganino da Monaca carries away the wife of Signior 
Ricciardo di Chinzica, who, understanding where she was, went 
thither, and growing acquainted with Paganino, he demanded 
her back, which the other consents to, provided she is willing: 
she refuses to return; and upon Ricciardo’s death became the 
wife of Paganino e e , 4 « i e ry e 


THE THIRD DAY 


NOVEL I,—Masetto da Lamporecchio, pretending to be dumb, {is 
taken in to be gardener to a monastery of nuns; what happens 
in consequence ., . : : ‘ 

— 

NoveEL II.—An equerry belonging to King Agilulf lies with his 
queen : of which the king making a secret discovery, set a mark 
upon him by shearing the hair off his head: upon which he who 
was so shorn, cut that of his fellow-servants in like manner, and 
so escaped further punishment , . ah Pa ° 


Nove. III.—A lady, under pretence of confessing, and a pure con- 
science, being in love with a young gentleman, makes a sanctified 
friar bring them together, without his knowing anything of her 
intention , . “ . . ° . . ° . : 


yéver IV.—A young scholar, named Felix, teaches one Puccio how 
he may be saved, by performing a penance which he shows him: 


vil 


PAGE 


10. 


14 


» 194 


134 


138 


142 


vill CONTENTS 


this he puts into execution; and, in the meantime, Felix amuses 
himself with his wife , . : ° ’ ° . . ° 
NOVEL V.—Ricciardo, surnamed the Beau, makes a present of a fine 
horse to Francisco Vergellesi, upon condition that he should have 
the liberty of speaking to his wife: and she making him no reply, 
he answers for her, which accordingly has its effect e° . . 


NOVEL VI.—Ricciardo Minutolo is in love with the wife of Philiv- 
pello Fighinolfi; and knowing her to be jealous of her husband, 
makes her believe that he was to meet his wife that night at a 
bagnio. Accordingly she goes thither; and, imagining she had 
been with her husband all the time, finds herself at last with 
Ricciardo . . ° ° ° . . . . . ° 

NOVEL VII,—Tedaldo, having a misunderstanding with his mistress, 
leaves Florence: he returns thither afterwards in the habit of a 
pilgrim, and makes himself known to her; when he convinces 
her of her mistake, and saves her husband from being put to 
death for his murder, for which he had been condemned, He 
then reconciles him to his brethren, and lives upon good terms 
with her for the future. . ° . . . . . : 

VEL VIII.—Ferondo, by taking a certain drug, is buried for dead, 
and by the abbot, who has an intrigue with his wife, is taken out 
of the grave and put into a dungeon, when he is made to believe 
that he is in purgatory; being raised up again, he rears a child 
as his own, which the abbot had got by his wife. “ . 

NovEL IX.—Giletta de Narbonne cures the King of France of a 
complaint, and demands the Count de Roussilon in marriage, as 
her reward; he marries her against his will, and goes in a pet to 
Florence, where he fell in love with a young lady, and lay with 
his own wife, when he thought himself in bed with his mistress, 
She had two sons by him, and, by that means, matters were 
accommodated at last between them , ’ . ‘ , : 

NovEL X.—Alibech, a young girl desirous of becoming a Christian, 
travels to a desert to consult some holy men as to the best means 
of serving and pleasing God. Rusticus, a devout hermit, informs 
her that the Devil had escaped from hell, that nothing could be 
more acceptable to God than his being sent back again, and 
teaches.her how to accomplish it; which she does with his pious 
assistance, to her great satisfaction , ° e , ° . 


PAGE 


150 


153 


157 


163 


174 


182 


28g 


CONTENTS ix 


. ‘THE FOURTH DAY 


; ; PAGE 
Nove. I,—Tancred, Prince of Salerno, puts his daughter's lover to 
death, and sends his heart to her in a golden cup; she pours 
water ‘upon it, which she had poisoned, and sodies . , + 97 


Nove Il,—Friar Albert makes a woman believe that an angel is 
in love with her, and in that shape deceives her. Afterwards, for 
fear of her relations, he throws himself out of the window, and 
takes shelter ina poor man’s house; who exposes him the next 
day in the public market-place in the form of'a wild man; when 
he is discovered by two friars, and put into. prison”, ° s 204 


Nove IIJ.—Three young men fall in love with three sisters, and fly 
with them.into Crete,. The eldest destroys her lover out. of 
jealousy ; and the second, by consenting to the Duke of Crete’s 
request, is the.means of,saving her sister’s life: afterwards her 
lover kills her, and goes away with the eldest sister. The third 
couple is charged with her death, which they confess, and after- 
wards fee their keepers, and, making their escape, die at Rhodes 
at last in great necessity . ° . . : ° ° . 210 


NoveL IV.—Gerbino, contrary to a treaty made by King William, 
his grandfather, fought with a ship belonging to the King of 
Tunis, with a design to take away his daughter; who being slain 
by the ship’s crew, he slew them likewise, and was afterwards 
beheaded for it , 4 ° : > > ° ° ° » 2x6 


NovEL. V.—Isabella's brothers put her lover to death; he appears to 
her in a dream, and shows her where he is buried. She privately 
brings away his head; and, putting it into a pot of basil and 
other sweet herbs, laments over it a considerable time every day. 
At length they take it away from her, and she soon after dies 
for grief  . ’ . . . . . . : ° iy 220 


Nove. VI.—A young lady, named Andrevuola, was in love with 
Gabriotto ; they relate to each other their dreams, ‘when he falls 
down dead in ber arms; as she and her maid are carrying him 
out, they are apprehended by the officers of justice, and she 
relates how the affair happened. Afterwards the magistrate 
would force her, but she resists; at length her father hears of it, 
and as her innocence is clear, has her set at liberty. From that 
period she grows weary of the world, and becomesa nun . 2 293 


a2 


x | CONTENTS 


AGB 
Novel. VII.—Pasquino is in love with Simona; and, being in a 
garden together, he happens to rub his teeth with a leaf of sage, 
and immediately dies. She is brought before the judge, when, 
being desirous of showing him the cause of Pasquino’s death, 
she rubs her teeth with the same herb, and meets with a similar 
fate . ° . ’ . : . . : . . » 229 


Nove. VIII.—Girolamo is in love with Salvestra, and:is obliged by 
his mother to go to Paris. On his return he finds her married: 
and getting privately into her house, he breathes his last by her 
side. Being carried from thence toa church to be buried, she 
o dies likewise upon his corpse : : ° ’ . . + 232 


NoveEL 1X.—Gulielmo Rossiglione gives his wife to eat the heart of 
Gulielmo Guardastagno, her gallant, whom he had slain; as soon 
as she knew this, she threw herself out of a window, and, dying, 
was buried along with him , : . ° . . . - 236 


NovEL X.—A doctor's wife puts her gallant into a chest, imagining 
him to be dead ; which chest is stolen by two usurers, and carried 
home. He comes to himself, and is taken for a thief; whilst the 
lady's maid informs the magistrates that she had put him into a 
chest, which the usurers had carried away; upon which he 
escapes, and they are fined a sum of money ? : . 239 


THE FIFTH DAY 


NovzEL I.—Cymon becomes wise by being in love, and by force of 
arms wins Ephigenia his mistress upon the seas; and is impri- 
soned at Rhodes__ Being delivered from thence by Lysimachus, 
with him he recovers Ephigenia, and flies with her to Crete, 
where he is married to her, and is afterwards recalled home . 260 


Nove. I1.—Constantia is in love with Martuccio Gomito; and 
hearing that he was dead, out of despair, goes alone into a boat, 
which is driven by the wind to Susa: finding him alive at Tunis, 
she makes herself known; whilst he, being a great favourite 
there of the king's, marries her, and returns home witb her to 
Lipari, very rich . . . 5 . . > wont . » 260 


Nove. III.—Pietro Boccamazza running away with his mistress, is 
set upon by thieves, whilst the lady makes her escape into a 
forest, from whence she is conducted to a castle. He is taken, 
but escapes by some accident, and arrives at the same castle, 
where they are married, and return from thence to Rome . », 265 


CONTENTS Xi 
-PAGE 
NOVEL 1V —Ricciardo Manardi is found by Lizio along with his ~ 
daughter, whom he marries, and they become reconciled to- 
gether . : ; . : 5 : : ; : 5 =" azo 


NovEL V.—Guidotto da Cremona dying, left a daughter to the care 
of Giacomino da Pavia. Giannole di Severino and Minghino di 
Mingole are both in love with her, and fight on her account, 
when she is known to be Giannole’s sister, and is married to 
Minghino , - ‘ ‘ . ‘ : , ; f ~ 274 


NovEL VI.—Gianni di Procida is discovered with a young lady, 
formerly his mistress, but then given to King Frederick, for 
which he is condemned to be burnt with her at astake. When, 
being known by Ruggieri dell’ Oria, he escapes, and marries her 278 


NOVEL VII.—Theodoro is in love with Violante, his master’s 
daughter; she proves with child, for which he’ is condemned 
to be hanged; when being led out to execution, he is known 
by his father, set at liberty, and afterwards marries her » 15283 


NOVEL VIII.—Anastasio being in love with a young lady, spent a 
good part of his fortune without being able to gain her affections. 
At the request of his relations he retires to Chiassi, where he sees 
a lady pursued and slain by a gentleman, and then given to the 
dogs to be devoured. He invites his friends, along with his 
mistress, to come and dine with him, when they see the same 
thing, and she, fearing the like punishment, takes him for her 
yi husband . . . ‘ . ° ° = : ; . 288 


NovEL IX.—Federigo being in love, without meeting with any 
return, spends all his substance, having nothing left but one 
poor hawk, which he gives to his lady for her dinner when she 

‘comes to his house ; she, knowing this, changes her resolution, 
and marries him, by which means he becomes very rich. un 303 


NovEL X.—Pietro di Vinciolo goes to sup at a friend’s house; his 
wife in the meantime has her gallant: Pietro returns, when she / 
hides him under a chicken coop. Pietro relates, that a young / 
fellow was found in Hercolano’s house where he supped, who ° 
had been concealed by his wife. Pietro’s wife blames very much 
the wife of Hercolano; whilst an ass happening to tread on the 
young man’s fingers, who lay hidden, he cries out. Pietro runs 
to see what is the matter, and finds out the trick. At length 
they makeitup . : : * : . . 268 


cil CONTENTS 


THE SIXTH DAY 


NovEL I.—A certain knight offers a lady to carry ber behind him, 
and to tell her a pleasant story by the way; but doing it with an 
ill grace, she chose rather to walk on foot . oa ee 


Nove. I[I.—Cisti the baker; by a smart reply makes Signor Geri 
Spina sensible of an unreasonable request . : : : . 


FAGE 


395 


$97 


Nove. III.—Madam Nonna de’ Pulei ‘silences ‘the Bishop of | 


Florence, by a smart reply to an unseemly. piece of raillery : 


Nove. IV,-—Chichibio, cook to Currado Gianfiliazzi, by a sudden 
reply, which he made to his master, turns his wrath into 


laughter, and so escapes the punishment with which he had, 


threatened him , 5 ‘ ¥ , - e ? 


NovEL V.—Forese da Rabatta and Giotto the painter, coming from 
Mugello, laugh at the meanness of each other’s appearance 


Nove. VI.—Michael Scalza proves to certain young gentlemen, that 
the family of the Baronci is the most honourable of any in the 
world, and wins a supper byit . ‘ : ; 


NovEL VII.—Madam Philippa being surprised with her gallant by 


her husband, is accused and tried for it; but saves herself by 
her quick reply, and has the laws moderated for the future 


NoOveEL VIII,—Fresco advises his niece that if she could not endure 
to look at any disagreeable people, she should never behold 
herself , : . , . P d 


NoveL IX.—Guido Cavalcanti genteelly reprimands the folly of 


some Florentine gentlemen, who came unawares upon him 
Ps 


NoveEL X.—Friar Onion promises some country people to show them 
a feather from the wing of the angel Gabriel; instead of which 


he finds only some coals, which he tells them are the same that. 


roasted St. Laurence... . , ‘ d i 


THE SEVENTH DAY 


Nove. I.—Giann: Lotteringhi hears a knocking at his door, and 
wakes his wife, who makes him believe it is a spirit, and they 
both go to conjure it away with a certain prayer, after which 
the noise ceases : : 


. . 


310 


3It 


314 


317 


319 


335 


CONTENTS Kili 
” 


hovan I1.—Peroiella puts her gallant into a tub on her busband’s 
coming home; which tub the husband had sold; she conse- 
quently tells him that she had also sold it to a person who was 
then in it to see if it were sound. Upon this the man jumps cut, 
makes the husband clean it for him, and carries ithome . «338 


PAGS 


Nove. II].—Friar Rinaldo has an affair with a lady in the neigh- 
bourhood, when he makes the husband believe that he is upon 


oe to cure their child of the worms , ° ° : o: 345 


NoveEL IV.—Tofano shuts his wife one night out of doors; who, not 
being able to persuade him to let her come in, pretends to throw 
herself into a well, by throwing a stone in:.he runs thither to 
see, during which she enters, and locking him out, abuses him 
well ° ° . a . ° . e ° e ° o 344 


NoveEL. V.—A jealous man confesses his wife under a priest's habit, 
who tells him that she is visited every night by a friar ; and, 
whilst he is watching the door, she lets her lover in at the house- 
top . ° ° ° . e * e e . . ° 348 


Nove. VI.—Isabella, being in company with her gallant, called 
Leonetto, and being’ visited at the same time by ese Lambertuc- 
cio, her/ husband returns, when she sends Lambertuccio away 
with a drawn sword in his hand, whilst the husband guards 
Leonetto safe to his own house , ; 2 - } Da 4. 


NoveL VII.—Lodovico being in love with Beatrice, she sends her 
husband into the garden, disguised like herself, so that her lover 
may be with her in the meantime ; and he afterwards goes into 
the garden, and beats him . F ° e » e ° «356 


Nove. VIII.—A woman who had a very jealous husband, tied a 
thread to her great toe, by which she informed her lover whether 
he should come or not. The husband found it out, and whilst 
he was pursuing the lover, she put her maid in her place. He 
takes her to be his wife, beats her, cuts off her hair, and then 
fetches his wife's relations, who find nothing of what he had told 
them, and so load him witb reproaches ° . ° ° o» 363 

NovEL IX.—Lydia, the wife of Nicostratus, being in love with 
Pyrrhus, did three things which he had enjoined her, to con- 
vince him of her affection,, She afterwards used some famili- ~~ 
arities with him before her husband's face, making him believe 


that what he had seen was notreal ., F ° lb : ~) 36) 


Kiv CONTENTS 


NOVEL X.—Two inhabitants of Siena love the same woman, one of 
whom was godfather to her son. This man dies, and returns, 
according to his promise, to bis friend, and gives him an account 
of what is done in the other world e : . é d 


THE EIGHTH DAY | 


NovEL I,.—Gulfardo borrows a sum of money of Guasparruolo, in 
order to give it his wife for granting him a favour: he afterwards 
tells Guasparruolo, whilst she was present, that he had paid it to 
her, which she acknowledges to be true. . . . 


NoveEL I1.—The parson of Varlungo receives favours from a woman 
of his parish, and leaves his cloak in pawn for them. He after- 
wards borrows a mortar of her, which he returns, and demands 
his cloak, which he says he left only as a token, She mutinies, 
but is forced by her husband to send it ‘ . , . . 


~~ 


Nove III.—Calandrino, Bruno, and Buffalmacco go to Mugnone 
to look for the Heliotrope; and Calandrino returns laden with 
stones, supposing that he had found it. Upon this his wife 
scolds him, and he beats her for it ; and then tells his companions 
what they knew better than himself . , : . 


NOVEL IV.—The provost of the church of Fiesole is in love with a 
lady who has no liking to him; and he, thinking that he is with 
her, is all the time with her maid, when her brothers bring the 
bishop thither to witness it . A . , : . : . 


Nove. V.—Three young sparks play a trick with a judge, whilst he 
is sitting upon the bench hearing causes, ; ; “ . 


Nove. VI.—Bruno and Buffalmacco steal a pig from Calandrino, 
and make a charm to find out the thief with pills made of ginger 
and some sack ; giving him, at the same time, pills made of aloes: 
whence it appeared that he had it himself, and they make him 
pay handsomely, for fear they should tell his wife 


Nov ¢L VII.—A certain scholar is in love with a widow lady named 

Helena; who, being enamoured of another person, makes the 
~~ former wait a whole night for her during the midst of winter in 
the snow. In return, he afterwards contrives that she shall 
stand naked on the top of a tower in the middle of July, exposed 
to the sun and all manner of insects , ‘ : : ’ 


PAGE 


374 


379 


381 


385 


391 


395 


397 


CONTENTS 


pores VIII.—Two neighbours are very intimate together , when one 

making very free with the other's wife, the other finds it out, and 
returns the compliment, whilst the friend is locked up in a chest 
all the time. . . . ° ° . . ° . 


NOvEL [X.—Master Simon, the doctor, is imposed upon by Bruno 
and Buffalmacco, and made to believe that he is to be one of the 
company of rovers, and afterwards they leave himinaditch . 


NOVEL X.—A certain Sicilian damsel cheats a merchant of all the 
money he had taken for his goods at Palermo. Afterwards he 
pretends to return with a greater stock of goods than before; 
when he contrives to borrow a large sum of money of her, leaving 
sham pledges for her security . ° ae ° ° . 


THE NINTH DAY 


Nove. I.—Madam Francesca having two lovers, and liking neither 
of them, rids herself of both by making one go and lie down in a 
person's grave, and sending the other to fetch him out ‘ : 


Novg. II,—An abbess, going in haste, and in the dark, to surprise 
one of her nuns, instead of her veil, puts on the priest's breeches, 
The lady accused makes a just remark upon this, and so escapes 


NovEL lil.—Master Simon, the doctor, with Bruno, and the rest 
make Calandrino believe that he is with child; who gives them 
fowls and money, to compose a medicine for him ; and he recovers 
without being delivered ° . : : ° : ° . 


Nove. IV.—Fortarrigo played away all that he had at Buoncon- 
vento, as also the money of Angiolieri, who was his master ; then 
running away in his shirt, and pretending that the other had 
robbed him, he caused him to be seized by the country people, 
when he put on his clothes, and rode away upon his horse, leav- 
ing him therein his shirt . ° . . . ‘ . . 


NoveEL V.—Calandrino is in love with a certain damsel, when Bruno 
prepares a charm for her, by virtue of which she follows him, and 
they are found together by his wife, . . . : . 


ee 


EL VI.—Two young gentlemen lie at an inn, one of whom goes 
to bed to the landlord's daughter; whilst the wife, by mistake, 
lies with the other. Afterwards, he that had lain with the 
daughter gets to bed to the father, and tells him all that had 


XV 


PAGE 


419 


434 


446 


450 


4§2 


455 


458 


xvi CONTENTS 


passed, thinking it had been ‘his friend: a great uproar is made 
about it; upon which the wife goes to bed to the daughter; and 
very cunningly sets all to rights again, 


NOVEL VII.—Talano di Molese dreamed that a wolf tore his wife's 
face and throat; and he bids her take care of herself : but she not 
regarding him, it happens as he dreamed. . ¢ : . : 


NOvEL VIII.—Biondello imposes upon one Ciacco with regard toa 
dinner ; who revenges himself afterwards, and causes the other 
to be soundly beaten , - ‘ 


NoveEL IX.—Two young men go to King Solomon for his advice ; 
: the one to know how he is to behave to be beloved, the other how 
to manage an untoward wife. To the first he replies, Love; to 
the second, Go to Goosebridge . 


NoveEL X,—Don John, at the request of his companion Peter, pro- 
ceeds by enchantment to turn his wife into a mare; but when he 
is about to attach the tail, Peter, in crying out that he will not 
have the tail, breaks the enchantment. ; 4 


* ® 
5 : 


THE TENTH DAY. 


NovEL, 1.—A certain knight in the service of the King of Spain 
thinks himself not sufficiently rewarded, when the king gives a 
remarkable proof that it was not his fault so much as the knight's 
ill fortune; and: afterwards nobly requiteshim . . . » 3 


NovEL I1.—Ghino di Tacco takes the Abbot of Cligni prisoner, and 
cures him of a pain in his stomach, and then sets him at liberty ; 
when he returns to the court of Rome, and reconciling him with 
Pope Boniface, he is made prior of an hospital , . . : 


NovEL III,.—Mithridanes envied the generosity of Nathan, and went 
to kill him; when, conversing together, without knowing him, 
and being informed i in what manner he might do it, he went to 
meet him in a wood as he had directed. ‘There he calls him to 
mind, is ashamed, and becomes his friend . etapa . . 


Nove. IV.—Signor Gentil de’ Carisendi takes a lady out of her 
grave, whom he had loved, and who was buried for'dead. She 
recovers, and is brought to bed of a son, which he presents along 
with the lady to ber husband 7 ° . . ° . . 


NovEL V.—Dianora requires Ansaldo to present her with a garden 
in January as beautifulasin May. He engages a necromancer to 


PAGE 


464 


VS 


468 


469 


472 


476 


481 


484 


488 


493° 


CONTENTS 


do it. Her husband, upon this, gives her leave to keep her word 
with Ansaldo; who, hearing of the husband’s generosity, quits 
her of her promise; and the necromancer likewise takes nothing 
for his trouble , : , . : . ; . 


NovEL VI.—Old King Charles, surnamed the Victorious, being in 


love with a young lady, and ashamed afterwards of his folly, 
marries both her and her sister much to their advantage , ‘ 


NovEL VII.—King Pietro, knowing that a lady was love-sick for 


him, makes her a visit, and marries her to a worthy gentleman; 
then kissing her forehead, calls himself ever afterwards her knight 


Nove. VIII.—Sophronia, believing herself to be the wife of Gisip- 


pus, is really married to Titus Quintus Fulvius, who carries her 
to Rome; where Gisippus arrives some time after in great dis- 
tress, and, thinking himself despised by Titus, confesses himself 
guilty of a murder, in order to put.an end to his life. Titus 
recollects him, and to save him, accuses himself; which, when 
the murderer sees, he delivers himself up as the guilty person, 
On which account they are all set at liberty by Octavius, and 
Titus marries Gisippus to his sister, and gives him half his estate 


Nove. [X.—Saladin, disguising himself like a merchant, is gener- 


i 


ously entertained by Signor Torello ; who, going upon an expedi- 
tion to the Holy Land, allowed his wife a certain time to marry 
again. In the meantime he is taken prisoner, and being em- 
ployed to look after the hawks, is known to the Soldan, who 
shows him great respect. Afterwards Torello falls sick, and is 
conveyed, by magic art, in one night, to Pavia, at the very time 
that his wife was to have been married: when he makes himself 
known to her, and returns with her home , e P . 


NOVEL X.—The Marquis of Saluzzo having been prevailed upon’ by 


his subjects to marry, in order to please himself in the affair, 
made choice of a countryman’s daughter, by whom he had two 
children, which he pretended to put todeath. Afterwards, seem- 
ing as though he was weary of her, and had taken another, he 
had his own daughter brought home, as if he had espoused her, 
whilst his wife was sent away in a most distressed condition, At 
length, being convinced of her patience, he brought her home 
again, presented her children to her, who were now of consider- 
able years, and ever afterwards loved and honoured her as his 
ES a ee re 1 SSN ARS BOS a takers 


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xvi 


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AUTHOR'S. INTRODUCTION 


ZO THE LADIES 


WHENEVER I reflect how disposed you are by nature to 
compassion, I cannot help being apprehensive, lest what I 
now Offer to your acceptance should seem to have but a 
melancholy beginning. For it calls to mind the remem- 
brance of that most fatal plague, so terrible yet in the 
memories of us all, an account of which is in the front 
of the book. but be not frightened.too soon, as if you 
expected to meet with nothing else. ~This beginning, 
disagreeable as it is, is as a rugged and steep mountain 
placed before a delightful valley, which appears more 
beautiful and pleasant, as the way to it was more difficult: 
for as joy usually ends with sorrow, so again the end of 
sorrow is joy. To this short fatigue (I call it short, because 
contained in few words) immediately succeeds the mirth 
and pleasure I had before promised you; and which, but 
for that promise, you would scarcely expect to find. And 
in truth could I have brought you by any other way than 
this, I would gladly have done it: but as the occasion of 
the occurrences, of which I am going to treat, could not 
well be made out without such a relation, I am forced to 
use this Introduction. 

In the year then of our Lord 1348, there happened at 
Florence, the finest city in all Italy, a most terrible plague ; 
which, whether owing to the ‘influence of the planets, or 
that it was sent from God as a just punishment for our 
sins, had broken out some years before in the Levant ; and 
after passing from place to place, and making incredible 
havoc all the way, had now reached the west; where, spite 
of all the means that art and human foresight could suggest, 


xX1X 


XX INTRODUCTION 


as keeping the city clear from filth, and excluding all sus- 
pected persons; notwithstanding frequent consultations 
what else was to be done; nor omitting prayers to God in 
nae processions: in the spring of the foregoing year, 1t it 


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from the nose is fk fatal prognostic, here there appeared 
certain tumours in the groin, or under the armpits, some as 
big as a small apple, others as an egg; and afterwards 
purple spots in most parts of the body: in some cases large 
and but few in number, in others less and more numerous, 
both sorts the usual messengers of death. ve. the cure o of 


in ts “own nature AD or that the physicians ne num- 
ber of whom, taking quacks and women pretenders into 
account, was grown very great) could form no just idea of 
the cause, nor consequently ground a true method of cure; 
whichever was the reason, few or none escaped; but. they 
generally died the third day from the first appearance of 
the symptoms, without a fever or other bad circumstance 
attending. And the disease, by being communicated from 
the sick to the well, seemed daily to get ahead, and to rage 
the more, as fire will do by laying on fresh combustibles. 

_ Nor was it given by conversing with only, or coming near 
_ the sick, but even by touching their clothes, or, anything 
_ that they had before touched. It is wonderful what I am 
going to mention; which, had I not seen it with my own 
eyes, and were there not.many witnesses to attest it besides 
myself, I should never venture to relate, however credibly I 
_ might have been informed about it: such, I say, was the 
_ quality of the pestilential matter, as to pass not only from 
man to man, but, what is more strange and has been often 
known, that anything belonging to the infected, if touched 

_ ‘by any other creature, would certainly infect, and even kill | 
_ that creature in a short space of time: and one instance 
of this kind I took particular notice of, namely, that the 
rags of a poor man just dead, being thrown into the street, 

_ and two hogs coming by at the same time and rooting 
_ amongst them, and shaking them about in their mouths, in 


zy 


at 


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less than an hour vuiucu sound and aied on: the spot. 
ihese’ accidents, and others of the like sort, occasioned 
various fears and devices amongst those people that sur- 
vived, all tending to the same uncharitable and cruel 
end; which was to avoid the sick, and everything that had 
been near them expecting by ‘that’ means to save them- 
selves. _ And some holding it best to ‘live temperately, 
and to avoid excesses of all kinds, made parties, and shut 
themselves up fromthe rest of the world; eating and drink- 
ing’ moderately of the best, and diverting themselves with 
music, and such other entertainments as they might have . 
within doors; never listening to. anything: from without, to 
make them uneasy. Others maintained free living to be a 
better preservative, and would baulk no passion or appetite 
they wished to gratify, drinking: and revelling incessantly 
from tavern to tavern, or in private houses; which were 
frequently found deserted by the owners, and therefore 
common to every one; yet_avoiding, with all this irregu- 
larity, to.come near the infected. And such at that time 


was the public distress, that the laws, human and divine, 
were not regarded: for the officers to put ‘them in force, 
being either dead, sick, or in want of persons to assist them ; 


every one did just as he. pleased. A third sort of people 


chose_a method between these two; not confining them- 


selves to rules of diet like the former, and_yet avoiding the 
intemperance of the latter; but eating and drinking what. 
their appetites required, they waiked everywhere with odours 
and nosegays to smell to; as holding it best to corroborate 
the brain: for they supposed the: whole atmosphere to be 
tainted with the stink of dead bodies, arising partly from 
the distemper itself, and partly from the fermenting of the 
medicines within them. Others of a’more cruel disposi: 
tion, as perhaps the more safe to themselves, declared that 
the only remedy was to avoid it: persuaded, therefore, of 
this, and taking care for themselves only, men and women 
in great numbers left the city, their houses, relations, and 
effects, and fled into the country: as if the wrath of God 
had been restrained to visit those only within the walls of 
the city; or else concluding that none ought to stay in a 
place thus doomed to destruction. Divided as they were, 


. ae 


oy a 


xxii INTRODUCTION 


neither did all die nor all escape ; but falling sick indiffer- 
ently, as well those of one as of another opinion ; they who 
first set the example by forsaking others, now languished 
themselves without mercy, I pass over the little regard 
that citizens and relations showed to each other; for their 
terror was such that a brother even fled from his brother, a’ 
wife from her husband, and, what is more uncommon, a 
parent from its own child.. On which account numbers 
that fell sick could have no help but what the charity of 
friends, who were very few, or the avarice of servants 
supplied ; and even these were scarce, and at extravagant 
wages, and so little used to the business, that they were fit 
only to reach what was called for, and observe when they 
died; and this desire of getting money often cost them their 
lives. From this desertion of friends, and scarcity of ser- 
vants, an unheard-of custom prevailed ; no lady, however 
young or handsome, would disdain being attended by a’ 
man-servant, whether young or old it mattered not; and to. 
expose herself naked to him, the necessity of the distemper 
requiring it, as though it was to a woman; which might 
make those who recovered less modest for the time to come. 
And many lost their lives who might have escaped had they 


been looked after at all. So that between the scarcity of 
servants and violence of the distemper, such numbers were 
continually dying, as made it terrible to hear as well as 
to behold. Whence from mere necessity, many customs 


were introduced, different from what had been before known 


inthe city. It had been usual, as it now is, for the women 


who were friends and neighbours to the deceased, to meet 
together at his house, and to lament with his relations; at 


_ the same time the men would get together at the door, with 


a number of clergy, according to the person’s circum- 


stances ; and the corpse was carried by people of his own 
rank, with the solemnity of tapers and singing, to that 
church where the person had desired to be buried; which 
custom was now laid aside, and, so far from having a crowd 
of women to lament over them, that_great numbers_passed 
out_of the world without a-single person: and few had the 
tears of their friends at their departure; but those friends 
would laugh, and make themselves merry: for even the 


INTRODUCTION xxill 


women had learned to postpone every other concern to that 
of their own lives. Nor was a corpse attended by mare 
than ten or a dozen, nor those citizens of credit, but fellows 
hired for the purpose ; who would put themselves under the. 
bier, and carry it with all possible haste to the nearest 
church,; and the corpse was interred, without any great 
ceremony, where they could find room. 

With regard to the lower sort, and many of middling 
rank, the scene was still more affecting ; for they staying at 
home either through poverty, or hopes of succour in dis- 
tress, fell_sick daily by thousands, and, having nobody to 
attend them, generally died : some breathed their last in the 
streets, and others shut up in their own houses, when the 
stench that came from them made the first discovery of their 
deaths to the neighbourhood. And, indeed, eyery place was 
filled with the dead. A method now was taken, as well 
out of regard to the living, as pity for the dead, for the 
neighbours, assisted by what porters they could meet with, 
to clear all the houses, and lay the bodies at the doors; 
and every morning great numbers might be seen brought 
out in this manner; from whence they were carried away 
on biers, or tables, two or three at a time; and sometimes 
it has happened that a wife and her husband, two or three 
brothers, and a father and son, have been laid on together: 
it has been observed also, whilst two or three priests have 
walked before a corpse with their crucifix, that two or three 
sets of porters have fallen in with them ; and where they 
knew but of one, they have buried six, eight, or more: nor 


was_there any to follow and shed a few tears over them; 
for things were come to that pass, that men’s lives were no 


more regarded than the lives of so many beasts. Hence 
it plainly appeared, that what the wisest in the ordinary 
course of things, and by a common train of calamities, 
could never be taught, namely, to bear them patiently ; this, 
by the excess of those calamities, was now grown a familiar 
lesson to the most simple and unthinking. The con- 
secrated ground no longer containing the numbers which 
were continually brought thither, especially as they were 
desirous of laying every one in the parts allotted to their 
| families ; they were forced to dig trenches and to put them 


exiv INTRODUCTION 


in by hundreds, piling them up in rows, as goods are 
stowed in a ship, and ‘throwing in little earth till they 


were filled to the top. Not to’ rake any farther into the 
particulars of our misery, I shall observe that it fared no 
_ better with the adjacent country; for to omit'the different 


castles about us, which presented the same view in miniature 


- with the city, you might see the poor distressed labourers 


with their families, without either the plague or physicians, 
or help of servants, languishing on the highways, in the 





fields, and in their own houses, and » dying rather like cattle 
“than human creatures; and growing dissolute in their 
manners like the citizens, and careless of everything, as 
supposing every day’ to be their last, their thoughts were 

not so much employed how to improve as to make use 
of their substance for their present. support : whence ‘it 
happened that the flocks, herds, &c., and the dogs them- 
selves, ever faithful to their masters, being driven from their 
own homes, would wander, no’ regard being had to them, 
among the forsaken harvest; and many times, after they 
had filled themselves in the day, would return of their own 
accord like’ rational creatures at night. What can I say 
more, if I return to the city? unless that such was the 
cruelty of Heaven, and perhaps of men, that between 
March and July following, it is supposed, and made pretty 
certain, that upwards of a hundred thousand souls perished 
in the city only ; whereas, before that calamity, it was not 
supposed to have contained so many inhabitants. What 
magnificent dwellings, what noble palaces were then de- 
populated to the last person! what families extinct! what 
riches and vast possessions left, and ‘no known heir to 
inherit! what’ numbers of both sexes in the prime and 
vigour of youth, whom in the morning’ neither Galen, 
Hippocrates, nor Aisculapius himself, but would have de- 
clared in perfect health, after dining heartily with their 
friends here, have supped with their departed friends in the 
other world! But I am weary of recounting our late 
miseries ; therefore, passing by everything that I can well 
omit, I shall only observe, that the city being left almost — 
without inhabitants, it happened esday in the even-.. 
ing as’ I was informed by persons of ‘good credit, that f 





a 
INTRODUCTION XXV 


seven ladies all in deep mourning, as most proper for that 
Sree ieet atieoding: D ling Divine service (being the whole 
congregation), in new St. Mary’s Church: who, as united 
by the ties either of friendship or relation, and of suitable 
years; viz., the youngest not less than eighteen, nor the 
eldest exceeding twenty-eight; so were they all discreet, 
nobly descended, and perfectly accomplished, both in 
person and behaviour. I do not mention their names, lest 
they should be displeased with some things said to have 
passed in conversation, there being a greater restraint on 
those diversions now; nor would I give a handle to ill- 
natured persons, who carp at everything that is praise- 
worthy, to detract in any way from their modesty by 
injurious reflections. And that I may relate therefore ail 
that occurred without confusion, I shall affix names to 
every one bearing some resemblance to the quality of the 
person. The eldest then I call Pampinea, the next to her 
Flammetta, the third Philomena, the fourth Emilia, the fifth 
Lauretta, the sixth Neiphile, and the youngest Eliza: who 
being got together by chance rather than any appointment, 
into a corner of the church, and there seated in a ring; 
and leaving off their devotions, and falling into some dis- 
course together concerning the nature of the times; in a 
little while Pampinea thus began: 

“My dear girls, you have often heard, as well as 
I, that no one is injured, where we only make an 
honest use of our own reason: now reason tells us 
that we are_to preserve our lives by all possible means; 
and, in some cases, at the expense of the lives of others. 
And if the laws which regard the good of the community 
allow this, may not we much rather (and all that mean 
honestly as we do), without giving offence to any, use 
the means now in our power for our own preservation? 
Every moment when I think of what has passed to-day, 
and every day, I perceive, as you may also, that we are all 
in pain for ourselves. Nor do I wonder at this; but much 
rather, as we are women, do I wonder that none of us 
should look out for a remedy, where we have so much 
reason to be afraid. We stay here for no other purpose, 
that I can see, but to observe what numbers come to be. 


\ 
\ 


} 


KXVI INTRODUCTION 


buried, or to listen if the monks, who are now reduced to a 
very few, sing their services at the proper times, or else to 
show by our habits the greatness of our distress. And if 
we go from hence, we are saluted with numbers of the 
dead and sick carried along the streets; or with persons 
who had been outlawed for their-villainies, now facing it out 
publicly, in defiance of the laws. Or we see the scum of 
the city enriched with the public calamity, and insulting us 
with reproachful ballads. Nor_is_ anything talked of but 
that such an one is dead or dying ; and, were any left to 
mourn, we should hear nothing but lamentations. Or if we 
go home (I know not whether it fares with you as with 
myself), when I find out of a numerous family not one left, 
besides a maid-servant, I am frightened out of my senses ; 
and go where I will, the ghosts of the departed seem always 
before; not like the persons whilst they were living, but 
assuming a ghastly and dreadful aspect. 

“Therefore the case is the same, whether we stay here, 
depart hence, or go home; especially as there are few wha 
are able to go, and have a place to go to, left but ourselves. ; 
And those few, I am told, fall into all sorts of debauchery ; 
and even the religious and ladies shut up in monasteries, 
supposing themselves entitled to equal liberties with others, 





are as bad as the worst. And if. this be so (as you see 
plainly it is) what do we here? What are we dreaming 


of? Why less regardful of our lives than other people of 
theirs? Are we of less value to ourselves, or are our souls 
and bodies more firmly united, and so in less danger of 
dissolution? ’Tis monstrous to think in such a manner; 
so many of both sexes dying of this distemper in the very 
prime of their youth affords us an undeniable argument 
to the contrary. Wherefore, lest through our own wilful- 
ness or neglect, this calamity, which might have been 
prevented, should befall us, I should think it best (and 
I hope you will join with me) for_us to quit the town, and 
avoiding, as we would death itself, the bad example of 
others, to choose some place of retirement, of which every 
one of us has more than one, where we may make our- 
selves innocently merry, without offering the least violence 
to the dictates of reason and our own consciences. There 


INTRODUCTION XXVI1i 


will our ears be entertained with the warbling of the birds, 
and our eyes with the verdure of the hills and valleys; 
with the waving of corn-fields like the sea itself; with trees 
of a thousand different kinds, and a more open and serene 
sky? which, however overcast, yet affords a far more agree- 
able prospect than these desolate walls. The air also is 
pleasanter, and there is greater plenty of everything, at- 
tended with fewer inconveniences: for, though people die 
there as well as here, yet we shall have fewer such objects 
before us, as the inhabitants are less in number; and on 
the other part, if I judge right, we desert nobody, but are 
rather ourselves forsaken. or all our friends, either by 
death, or endeavouring to ‘avoid it, have left us, as if we 
in no way belonged to them. As no blame then can ensue 
by following this advice, and perhaps sickness and death by 
not doing so, I would have us take our maids, and every- 
thing we may be supposed to want, and to remove every 
day to a different place, takin all the diversions in the 
meantime which the seasons will permit ; and there con- 
tinue, unless death should interpose, till we see what end 
Providence designs for these things. And this I remind 
you of, that your character will stand as fair by our going 
away reputably, as the characters of others will do, who stay 
at home with discredit.” 

The ladies having heard what Pampinea had to offer, not 
only approved of it, but were going to concert measures for 
their departure, when Philomena, who was a most discreet 
person, made answer: “Though Pampinea has spoken 
well, yet there_is no occasion to run hand over head into 
it, as you are about to do. We are but women, nor is any 
of us so ignorant not to know how little able we shall be 
to conduct such an affair, without some man to help _us. 
We are naturally fickle, obstinate, suspicious, and fearful ; 
and I doubt much, unless we take somebody into our 
scheme to manage it for us, lest it soon be at an end; and 
perhaps, little to our reputation. Let us provide against 
this, therefore, before we begin.” 

' Eliza then replied: “It is true, man 1s the head of a 
woman, and without his management it seldom happens 
that any undertaking of ours succeeds well. But how are 


te 


XXVill INTRODUCTION 


these men to be come-at? We all know that the greatest 
part of our male acquaintance are dead, and the rest all 
dispersed abroad, avoiding what we seek to avoid, and 
without our knowing where to find them. And to take 
strangers with us, would not be altogether so proper; for, 
whilst we have regard to our health, we should so contrive 
matters that, wherever we go to repose and divert ourselves, 
no scandal may ensue from it.” Whilst this was debated, 
behold, three gentlemen came into the church, the youngest 
not less than twenty-five years of age, and in whom neither 
the adversity of the times, the loss of relations and friends, 
nor even fear for themselves, could stifle, or indeed cool, 
the passion of love. One was called Pamphilus, the second 
Philostratus, and the third Dioneus, all of them well bred, 
and pleasant companions; and who, to divert themselves 
in this time of affliction, were then in ,pursuit of their 
mistresses, who by chance were three of these seven ladies, 
and “the other four all related to one or other of them. 
These gentlemen were no sooner within view, but the ladies 
had immediately their eyes upon them ; and Pampinea said, 
with a smile, ‘See, fortune is with us, and has thrown in 
our way three prudent and worthy gentlemen, who will 
conduct.and wait upon us, if we think fit to accept of their 
service.” Neiphile, with a blush, because she was one that 
had an admirer, answered: ‘Take care what you say; I 
know them all indeed to be persons of character, and fit to 
be trusted, even in affairs of more consequence, and in 
better company; but, as some of them are enamoured of 
certain ladies here, I am only concerned lest we be drawn 
into some scrape or scandal, without either our fault or 
theirs.” Philomena replied: ‘‘ Never tell me, so_long as I 
know myself _to be virtuous, what other péople think ; 
God and the truth will be amay: delete 7 aaa iain aie 
willing to go, we will say with Pampinea, that fortune is 
with us.” The rest hearing her speak in this manner, gave 
consent that they should be called, and invited to partake 
in this expedition. And, without more words, Pampinea, 
related to one of the three, rose up, and made towards 
them, who were standing at a distance, attentive to what 
passed, and, after a cheerful salutation, acquainted them with 


4 
hi 
Ay 


INTRODUCTION Xxix 


their design, and entreated that they would, out of pure 
friendship, oblige them with their company. The gentle- 
men at first took it all for a jest; but, being assured to 
the contrary, immediately answered that they-were ready ; 
and to lose no time, gave the necessary orders for what 
they would have done. Everything being thus prepared, 
and a messenger despatched before, whither they intended: 
to go, the next morning, which was Wednesday, by break 
of day, the ladies, with some of their women, and the 
gentlemen, with every one his servant, set_out fromthe 
city, and, after they had travelled two short miles, came to 
the place appointed. It was a little eminence, remote 
from any great road, covered with trees and plants of an 
agreeable verdure, on the top of which was a stately palace, 
with a grand and beautiful court in the middle; within 
were galleries, and fine apartments elegantly fitted up, and 
adorned with most curious paintings; around it were fine 
meadows, and most delightful gardens, with fountains of the 
purest and best water. The vaults also were stored with 
the richest wines, suited rather to the taste of debauchees, 
than of modest and virtuous ladies. This palace they 
found cleared out, and everything set in order for their 
reception, with the rooms all graced with the flowers of the 
season, to their great satisfaction. Being seated, Dioneus, 
who was the pleasantest of them all, and full of words, 
began: “Your wisdom it is, ladies, rather than any fore- 
sight of ours, which has brought us hither. I know not 
how you have disposed of your cares; as for mine I left 
_ them all behind me when I came from home. Either 
prepare, then, to be as merry as myself (I mean with 
decency), or give me leave to go back again, and resume 
my cares where I left them.” To whom Pampinea, as if 
she had disposed of hers in like manner, answered: ‘*You 
say right, sir, we will be merry; we fled from our troubles 
for no other reason. But, as extremes are never likely to 
last, I who first proposed the means by which such an 
agreeable set of company is now got together, and being 
desirous to make our mirth of some continuance, find there 
is a~ necessity for our appointing a principal, whom we 
_ should Sake kndiobey ae al things as our head ; whose 


pl ht 


ane INTRODUCTION 


province it shall be to regulate our diversions. And thai 
| every one may make trial of the burthen which attends 
care, as well as the pleasure which there is in superiority, 
nor, therefore, envy what he hath not yet tried, I hold it 
_best that every one should experience-both the. trouble and 
5 the honour for one day. The_first-to-be-eleeted—by-us-all, 
; parid who on. the approach of the evening, shall _name_a 
_person_to_succeed_for the. penny ce ; who, during the 
time _of_ their government, are to 
the place where, and the—manner howiiainrel soloed 
_ These words gave a general satisfaction, and they named 
_ her, with one consent, for the first-day : whilst Philomena, 
- running to a laurel tree, as having often heard how much 
| that tree had always been esteemed, and what honour was 
| conferred on those who were deservedly crowned with it, 
made a garland, and put it upon her head, which whilst 
_ the company continued together, was hereafter to be the 
ensign of sovereignty. 
_ Pampinea, thus elected queen, enjoined silence, and 
_ having summoned the gentlemen’s servants, and their own 
_ women, who were four in number, before her: “To give 
you the first example,” said she, ‘‘how, by proceeding from 
good to better, we may live orderly and_pleasantly, and 
continue together, without the least reproach, as long as 
_ we please: in the first place I declare Parme 
servant, master of my household, and to him I commit the 
care_of. my family, and -everything relating tomy hall. 
Siriscus, Pamphilus’s servant, I appoint my treasurer, and 
to be under the direction. of Parmeno; and Tindarus I 
command to wait on Philostratus and the other two gentle- 
men, whilst their servants are thus employed. Mysia, my 
woman, and Licisca, Philomena’s, I order into the kitchen, © 
there to get ready what shall be provided by Parmeno. 
To Chimera, Lauretta’s, and Stratilia, Flammetta’s, I give 
the care of the ladies’ chambers, and to keep the room 
clean where we sit. And ‘I will and command you all, 
n pain of my displeasure, that wherever you go, or what- 
ver you hear and see, you bring me no news here but 
‘at is good.” These orders were approved by them all; 
‘she, tising from her seat, with a good deal of gaiety, 


| 





INTRODUCTION KXxxi 


added, “Here are gardens and meadows, where you may 
divert yourselves till three o’clock, when I shall expect you 
back, that we may dine in the cool of the day.” 

The company were now at liberty, and the gentlemen 
and ladies took a pleasant walk in the garden, talking over 
a thousand merry things by the way, and diverting them- 
selves there by singing love-songs, and weaving garlands 
of flowers, and returned at the time appointed, when they 
found Parmeno busy in the execution of his office: for in 
a saloon below was the table set forth, covered with the 
neatest linen, with glasses reflecting a lustre like silver; and 
having washed their hands, by the queen’s order, Parmeno 
desired them to sit down. ‘The dishes now were served up 
in the most elegant manner, and the best wines brought in, 
the servants waiting all the time with the most profound 
silence: and, being well pleased with their entertainment, 
they dined with all the facetiousness and mirth imaginable. 
When dinner was over, as they could all dance, and some 
both play and sing well, the queen ordered in the musical 
instruments, and commanding Dioneus to take a lute, and 
Flammetta a viol, they struck up a dance, and the queen, 
with the rest of the company, took an agreeable turn or 
two, whilst the servants were sent to dinner; and when the 
dance was ended, they began to-sing, and continued till the 
queen thought it time to break up. Her permission being 
given, the gentlemen retired to their chambers, remote 
from the ladies’ lodging rooms, and the ladies did the 
same, and undressed themselves for bed. 

It was no sooner nine, than the queen arose, and ordered 
all to be called, alleging, that much sleep in the day-time 
was unwholesome ; and they went into a meadow of deep 
grass, where the sun had little power; and having the 
benefit of a pleasant breeze, they sat down in a circle, as 
the queen had commanded, who spoke in this manner :— 
“As the sun is high, and the heat excessive, and nothing 
is to be heard but the chirping of the grasshoppers among the 
olives, it woud be madness for us to think-of moving yet 
this is an airy place, and here are chess-boards and gam- 
mon-tables to divert yourselves with; but if you are ruled 
by me, you will not play at all, since it often makes one 


XxXii INTRODUCTION 


party uneasy, without any great pleasure to the other, or 
to the looker-on ; but let us begin and tell stories, and_in 
this manner one person will entertain the whole company ; 
and by the time it has gone round, the worst part of the 
day will be over, and then we can divert ourselves as we 
like best. If this be agreeable to you, then, for I wait to 
know your pleasure, let us begin; if not, you are at your 
own disposal till the evening.” This motion was approved 
by all; whilst the queen continued, ‘‘ Let every one for 
this first day take what subject he fancies most:” and 
turning to Pamphilus, who sat on her right hand, bade 
him begin ; who, in ready obedience to her commands, and 
being well heard, spoke to this effect. 


THE DECAMERON 


THE FIRST DAY 
ere I 


Chappelet imposes upon the priest by a sham confession, and dies ; and 
although a very wicked fellow, was afterwards reputed a saint ; 
and called St. Chappelet. 


LaDIES, it is most meet and right, that everything we do 
should be-begun in the name of Him who is the Maker of 
all things. Therefore, as I am to entertain you first, I 
‘shall make choice of a very extraordinary instance, which 
may direct us to place all our hopes in Him, as the only 
unchangeable being, and evermore to praise Him. Certain 
it is, that all earthly things are transitory and mortal; 
attended with great troubles, and subject to infinite dangers, 
which we who live embroiled with them, and are even part 
of them, could neither endure, nor find a remedy for, were 
it not for the especial grace of God that enables us: which 
blessing we are not to expect through our own merits, but 
His goodness, and the intercession of those saints who, 
having been once mortal men like ourselves, and done His 
will whilst on earth, now enjoy happiness and immortality 
in heaven; to whom, as to fit agents, informed of our 
frailties by their own experience, and not daring, perhaps, 
immediately to address ourselves to so great a Judge, we 
offer up our prayers for what we want. And we find His 
mercy the greater, as, not being able to pry into the secrets 
of His divine will, we may sometimes make choice of a 
mediator before Him, who is banished eternally from His 
A 


2 THE DECAMERON 


presence: and yet He from whom nothing is hidden, having 
regard to the purity of the supplicant, rather than to his 
ignorance, or the situation of the person to whom he applies 
himself, hears those who pray in this manner, as if that 
person were really a saint: which will most plainly appear 
from the following story; I say most plainly, not consider- 
ing the judgment of God, but that of man. 

There lived in France a person whose name was 
Musciat; who, from a wealthy merchant, became a 
courtier, and went into Tuscany with Charles, surnamed 
Lackland, brother to the King of France, who was 
instigated to that expedition by Pope Boniface. This 
gentleman, finding his affairs considerably perplexed, and 
lying, as is usual to persons in trade, in abundance of 
hands; nor being able to right them himself, without a 
good deal of time and trouble, resolved to entrust them 
_with several people; and settled everything to his mind, 
excepting some debts which were standing out from persons 
living in Burgundy.. The reason was, he had found them 
to be a set of perverse, ill-conditioned, rascally fellows, and 
he could not for his life conceive, where a man might be 
met with bad enough to match them : after much thinking 
about it, he at last called to mind one Ciapperello da 
Prato, who used to come much to his house at Paris; 
and being a= little pragmatical fellow, the French, not 
knowing the meaning of his true name, but thinking him 
to have been called Cappello, gave him the diminutive 
name of Ciappelletto, or Chappelet, by which he was 
generally known there. | 

Now the character of the man was this: Being by trade 
a scrivener, he was really ashamed if any writings of his 
(he did not draw many indeed) were found without some 
fault, or flaw ; and would do that sort of work for nothing 
with more pleasure than a just thing that he was to be well 
paid for. He was glad at all times of being a false witness, 
whether it was required of him or not: and as great regard 
was had to an oath in France, he, who made: no scruple to 
forswear himself on every occasion, was sure of every cause 
that depended on his single testimony. ‘To foment quarrels 
and disputes was his utmost pleasure, especially amongst 


FIRST DAY 3 


friends or relations ; and the more mischief he occasioned, 
the greater was his satisfaction. Was a man to be dis: 
patched at any time; he was the person to undertake it, 
and would do it with his own hands. He was a great 
blasphemer of God and His saints, swearing and cursing 
on every occasion. He went to church at no time, but 
spoke always of the holy sacraments in the same abomin- 
able terms, as he would do of’the vilest things in the 
world; on the contrary, he was eternally at taverns, and 
ag of bad repute. Of women he was as fond as a dog 
s of a stick; but to unnatural’ vice, no wretch so aban- 
doned as himself. He would pilfer and steal with as much 
conscience as others give to charity. He was a glutton 
and drunkard to the ruin of his constitution. He was also 
a most notorious gamester ; making use always of false dice. 
And, to sum up his character in few words, perhaps his 
‘equal in wickedness has not yet been born. Yet, bad as 
he was, he had all along been screened by the favour and 
interest of Musciat, as well from the resentment of private 
persons, whom he had often injured, as from that of the — 
court, to which he gave daily provocation. 

This man coming into Musciat’s thoughts at last, who 
was no Stranger to every part of his life, he concluded him 
to be such an one as the tempers of the people he had to 
deal with required ; and sending for him, he addressed him 
thus : 

** Master Chappelet, you know that I am about to leave 
this country, and as I have affairs to settle with some 
people of Burgundy, who are full of quirks and deceit, I do 
not know any one that I can employ so fit to manage them 
as yourself: you have a good deal of spare time, and if you 
will undertake it, I will procure you recommendatory letters 
from court, and allow you a reasonable part of what you 
recover.” 

Chappelet, who found himself much embarrassed in the 
world, and likely to be more so when his great friend was 
gone, without hesitating at all about it, answered that he 
was willing.» They agreed upon terms; Musciat gave him 
a deputation, and procuring him the letters he had pro- 
mised, he set out for Burgundy; where, being quite a 


4 THE DECAMERON 


stranger, he endeavoured, contrary to his former manner, 
to do the business he came about by fair means ; reserving 
a different behaviour to the last. He lodged with two 
brothers; who were usurers; and they entertained him 
well on Musciat’s account ; and falling sick there, they had 
physicians to him, and servants to attend him; nor was 
anything omitted that cou:d be of service, but all .in 
vain; for this worthy good man, who was advanced’ in 
years, and had been also an irregular liver, grew worse and 
worse in the judgment of the physicians; so that he was 
looked upon as a dead man; at which the brothers were 
greatly concerned. And one day, being near the chamber 
where he lay, they began to have some talk together about 
it; and one said to the other : 

‘‘What shall we do with this fellow? We have a fine 
affair upon our hands, by means of his wickedness. For 
to turn him out in this condition would afford matter for 
reproach, and also be a proof of our want of understand- 
ing; the people seeing us receive him before into our 
' house, and supply him with physic, and all things necessary; 
and now send him out whilst he is dying, without his 
having been able to do anything that we ought to be 
offended at.—And on the other hand, he has been such 
a vile fellow always, that he will never be brought to con- 
fess, and to receive the sacraments of the Church; and 
should he die without them, no church will receive his 
body ; but he must be put into the ground like a.dog. Or 
should he confess, his sins will appear so enormous, that 
the like were never known: nor can any priest be found 
that will give him absolution: and without that he must 
still be thrown into a ditch. And should this happen, the 
people of this country, who think ours an iniquitous trade, 
and are daily reviling us, would be apt to raise a mutiny, 
and declare publicly, that they will no longer bear with these 
Lombards, these extortioning villains, whom the Church 
disdains to receive into her bosom; and make that a pre- 
tence to plunder us of all we are worth, and abuse our 
persons into the bargain; so that it will be bad for us on 
all sides, should this man die.” 

Chappelet, whom we observed not to lie far off, heard all 


FIRST DAY 5 


this, as sick people are often quick of hearing, and calling 
them to him he said: 

‘‘T would have you be in-no doubts or fears of harm to 
yourselves'on my account. I have heard what you have 
been talking about, and am confident the thing would 
happen as you say, were everything to be as you suppose ; 
but I will take care that it shall happen otherwise: I have 
been guilty of so much wickedness, in my lifetime, that to 
add one sin at my death, will not make the sum much 
greater: therefore send out for the most able and religious 
priest you know of, if a religious one can be found, and I 
will take such care of your affairs, as well as of my own, 
that you shall have reason to be satisfied.” 

. The brothers. expected no great matters from this; but 
went however to a convent, and desired that some learned 
and holy person would come, and take the confession of a 
Lombard, who was sick in their house. Accordingly, a 
venerable old friar, of great sanctity and learning, and much 
reverenced by the whole city, was ordered to go with them; 
who being come into the room, and seated by the sick 
man’s bed-side, began, after some heavenly consolations, to 
inquire of him, how long it was since he had last confessed. 
To whom Chappelet, who had never confessed in his whole 
life, answered : » 

“Holy father, it has been usual with me always to 
confess once a: week at least; and sometimes oftener ; 
but it is true, since I have been sick, my affliction has 
been such, that I have not confessed at all.” 

The friar replied: ‘“‘Son, it is well, thus you should 
always: do; and I perceive, as you have confessed so 
often, that I shall have but little trouble, either in hearing 
or asking you questions.” 

» Good» father; do not say so,” cried Chappelet: ‘I 
have never so often confessed, but that I would always 
mention every sin that I could recollect from the hour 
Iwas born. Therefore I beg you would examine me 
as particularly as if 1 had never confessed at all; and do 
not regard: my languishing condition; for I had much 
rather do what may disoblige the flesh, than, by consult- 
ing the ease of my body, bring damnation on my soul, 


( 
| 


6 THE DECAMERON 


which my Saviour has: purchased with His most precious 
blood.” 

The good old man was ravished with these expressions, 
esteeming them. proofs of a well-disposed mind; and 
having commended his piety, he asked him whether he 
had ever offended God by the knowledge of women. To 
whom Chappelet, fetching a deep sigh, replied: 

*‘I. am ashamed to speak the truth, lest I should be 
thought to offend by vain-glory.” 

“Speak out boldly,” said the priest, ‘ for there can be 
no harm in telling truth, whether at confession or any 
other time.” 

‘Since you make me: easy in this,” quoth Chappelet, 
“T will speak out; I am as pure, in that respect, as when 
I first came into the world.” | 

‘God bless you, my son,” said the friar, “you have done 
well; and this is so much the more meritorious, as you 
have liberties far beyond us, of doing otherwise:” and 
he added, ‘‘but were you never given to gluttony?” 

Chappelet answered with a groan: 

“Yes, very often; for besides fasting in Lent, as all 
devout persons do, I have accustomed myself to live 
three days in a week at least on bread and water; and 
I have drunk the water sometimes, especially if I have 
been fatigued with praying, or performing a pilgrimage, 
with as much pleasure as drunkards drink wine; and 
sometimes I have wished for salads, and have eat my 
bread with more pleasure than a person ought, who fasts 
out of devotion. 4 

““My son,” replied the friar, “these are very natural 
and trivial crimes, and I would not. have you burthen 
your conscience more than is necessary: every one, be 
he ever so holy, eats with a good appetite ‘after. fasting, 
and drinks with pleasure when he has been fatigued.” 

“Do not tell me these things to comfort me only,” 
said Chappelet, “you know I cannot be ignorant, that 
whatever relates to the service of God should be done 
sincerely, and with a good will, otherwise we are guilty 
of sin” 

“T am well satisfied,” returned the friar, “in your 


FIRST DAY " 


being of that opinion, and much approve the purity of 
your conscience: but tell me, have you not been guilty 
of the sin of covetousness, desiring more than was fit, or 
detaining what was not your due?” 

“J would not have you think so,” said Chappelet, 
“because you see me in the house with these usurers: 
I have no ‘concern with them, but came purely to per 
suade them to leave off that abominable way of living ; 
and believe I might have prevailed, had it not pleased 
God to visit me in this manner. My father left me a 
plentiful fortune, and’ I immediately disposed of the 
greater part of it to religious uses; and betook myself 
to trade for a maintenance, and to have it in my power 
to relieve the poor in Christ: I cannot say indeed that 
I have not been desirous of gain; but I always gave 
half to the poor, and kept the other part for my own 
necessary occasions; and God hath so far blessed me, 
that my affairs have always prospered.” 

‘“You have done well,” said the confessor: ‘‘but have 
you not been often transported with anger and passion?” 

‘Very often truly!” answered the penitent, ‘but who ' 
can forbear, seeing the common degeneracy of mankind, 
who are every day breaking the commandments of God, 
and are not kept in awe by His judgments? I could 
rather choose to be out of the world, than to see youth 
run after vanity, swear and forswear, haunt taverns, neglect 
going to church, and follow the ways of the world before 
those of God.” 

“My son,” said the friar, ‘passion here is commend- 
able; nor shall I enjoin you any penance for it: but 
have you been transported by rage at no time, to 
murder, or use indecent expressions, or to do any other 
injury ?” 

“Alas, sir!” answered Chappelet, “‘how can you, who 
appear to be so good a man, mention any suchthing? Do 
you believe, had I ever entertained such thoughts, that 
God would have suffered me to live? These are the 
actions of robbers and villains, whom I never look upou 
without offering up a prayer to God for their conversion.” 

“‘God bless thee again, my dear child,” said the good 


8 THE DECAMERON 


old man; ‘but have you never borne false witness against, 
or spoken ill of another, or taken AWAY that from him 
which properly belonged to him ?” 

*‘'Yes, reverend father,” answered he, “ “] must needs 
confess I have spoken ill of another, for I had once a 
neighbour, who used to beat his wife without cause; and I 
gave him a bad character to her parents; so much did I 
pity the poor woman, who was always ill treated by him, as 
often as he got drunk.” 

“But,” said the friar, “you tell me you have been a 
merchant, did you never cheat any person, as is common 
for them to do?” 

‘‘ Yes, in good truth, sir,” he replied, ‘but I know only 
of one person, who, having brought the money for a piece 
of cloth which I had sold him, I put it into a bag without 
counting it, and at the month’s end, when I came to tell it 
over, I found fourpence too much; but as I was not able 
to find the owner again, after keeping it a year, I gave it to 
the poor.” 

“This is a mere trifle,” said the friar, ‘and you did well 
to dispose of it in that manner.’ 

He then put some other questions to him, which Chap- 
pelet answered as he had done the rest; and just as he 
was proceeding to absolution, Chappelet cried out, 

‘There is another thing hangs upon me, which I have 
not confessed.” 

The priest inquired what that was; and he answered, 

‘‘ T remember once making my maid clean the house on 
a holiday; and I have not showed that regards for the 
Lord’s day which I ought.” 

“Oh!” said the friar, ‘that is a small matter, my son.” 

“Do not call it so, dear father,” quoth the other, 
‘Sunday is a day much to be reverenced, being the day on 
which our Lord rose from the dead.” | 

“Then,” said the priest, ‘‘is there anything more?” 

‘“‘Ves,” answered. he, ‘‘I remember, once in my life, to 
have spit in the house of God.” 

The friar smiled, and said, ‘‘ My son, that is not to be 
regarded ; we ourselves spit there every day.” 

“ And you are much to blame for it,” returned he, “for 


FIRST DAY 9 


nothing should be kept so clean as the temple of God, 
where we offer sacrifice.” In short, he told him many 
more things of that kind, and at last, as he could weep 
when he pleased, he fell groaning and sobbing, as though 
he would burst his very heart. 

«Son, what is the matter?” said the friar. 

He answered, ‘*‘ Alas, sir! there is one sin left behind, 
which I could never endure to confess, the shame to 
mention it is so great, and which, as often as I recollect, I 
lament in the manner you now see; nay, I am convinced 
that God will never forgive it.” 

**Go, go, my son,” quoth the friar, “what is that you 
say? I tell you, that if all the wickedness that ever was 
committed by man, or can be committed whilst the world 
endures, was to be amassed in one person, if that person 
was thoroughly penitent, as I see you are, so great is God’s 
mercy, that upon confession, it would all be forgiven him ; 
— tell me then what it is.” 

‘‘ Alas! father,” said Chappelet, shedding abundance of 
tears, “‘my sin is so heinous, that I despair altogether of 
pardon, unless you assist me, and move God by your 
prayers.” 

‘Speak out, then,” said the friar, “‘and I promise to 
intercede for you.” 

Chappelet yet kept weeping, and would say. nothing ; 
the priest exhorting him all the while to clear his con- 
science ; and after he had held him some time in suspense, 
he fetched a deep sigh,.and said, 

** Since you have promised to pray for me, I will disclose 
it: you must know then, that when I was a child, I once 
cursed my mother ;” and here he began to lament afresh 
in a most grievous manner. 

___ & My good son,” said the friar, ‘‘ does this seem so great 
asin? Men are cursing God every day, yet He pardons 
them upon repentance; and do you think you shall never 
_be forgiven? Weep not; but let this be your comfort, 
that though you had even a hand in nailing Christ upon 
the cross, yet would that sin be forgiven on such a repent- 

ance as yours.” 3 
**What do you say?” quoth Chappelet; “what! to curse 

A2 


10 THE DECAMERON 


my dearest mother, who bore me day and night in her womb 
for nine months, and suckled me many hundreds of times at 
her breast! No, the sin is so great, that I must inevitably 
perish, unless your prayers prevent it.” . 

The friar, finding he had no more to say, absolved and 
gave him his benediction; and, supposing that he spoke 
truth all the while, thought him the most pious man living. 
And, indeed, who could think otherwise, having it all from 
a dying man? He afterwards said to him, ‘ Monsieur 
Chappelet, by God’s assistance you will soon recover; but 
if it should please the Almighty to take your blessed and 
well-disposed soul unto Himself, will you give leave for your 
body to be buried in our convent ?” 

**T would have it laid nowhere else,” answered he, ‘‘ both 
because you have promised to pray for me, and as I have 
always had a great regard for your order; therefore, when 
you go home I beg you would take care that the real body 
of our Lord, which was consecrated at your altar this morn- 
ing, may be brought to me; for, unworthy as I am, I intend, 
with your leave, to receive it, and after that extreme unction ; 
so that though I have been a great sinner all my life, I may 
die at least like a Christian.” 

The holy man was much pleased, and told him that he 
said well, and promised that it should be brought that day ; 
and so it was. 

The brothers being a little suspicious that he intended to 
impose upon them, had posted themselves behind a parti- 
tion of the room, where they heard all that passed ; inso- 
much that they could scarcely refrain from lagi 3 and 
said one to the other, 

“What a strange fellow this is! whom neither age, sick- 
ness, fear of death, which is at hand, nor of God, at whose 
tribunal he must shortly appear, are sufficient to deter from 
his wicked courses, or to prevent his dying as he has always 
lived!” But as he had obtained burial in the church by 
that means, they cared no farther. He then received the 
sacrament, and, growing worse and worse, had extreme 
unction, and died the evening that he had made this extra- 
ordinary confession. The brothers took immediate care 
that he should be honourably interred, and sent forthwith 


FIRST DAY II 


to the convent to desire they would come, as was usual, and 
perform vigils and matins for the deceased: and the priest, 
to whom he had confessed, went, upon this notice, to the 
prior, and had a chapter called, when he informed them 
how holy a person Chappelet was, as he could easily perceive 
by his confession: and hoping that God would work many 
miracles by him, he persuaded them to receive his body 
with all due reverence and devotion; to which the prior 
and the credulous brotherhood’ all consented, and that 
night they came in a body to the place where the corpse 
lay, and sang the great and solemn vigils; and in the morn- 
ing they all went in their hoods and surplices, with books in 
_ their hands, and the cross carried before them for the body, 
singing all the way; and they brought it with the utmost 
solemnity to their church, being followed by the whole city : 
and having set it down there, the good confessor mounted 
_ the pulpit, and told them wonderful things concerning his 
_ life, fastings, chastity, simplicity, innocence, and sanctity ; 
speaking more particularly of that great crime, which he had 
confessed with so much concern, as scarcely to be persuaded 
that God would forgive him. And from thence he took 
occasion to reprimand his audience in this manner: “ Yet 
you, wicked as you are, make no scruple to curse God, the 
holy mother of God, and all the host of heaven, for the 
least trifle.” He flourished much concerning his truth and 
purity; and worked so far upon them by his discourse, to 
which all yielded an implicit faith, that when the service 
was ended they pressed forward to kiss the deceased’s 
hands and feet; and the funeral clothes were immediately 
rent to pieces, every one thinking himself happy who could 
get a single rag. All that day he was kept, so that every 
one might see and visit him ; and at night most honourably 
interred in a marble sepulchre: and on the following day 
was a great procession of devout persons, to worship at his 
shrine with lighted tapers, and to offer the waxen images 
which they had vowed. And such was the fame of his 
sanctity, and the people’s devotion towards him, that 
nobody in time of trouble would apply themselves to any 
other saint but him, calling him St. Chappelet, and affirm- 
ing, that God had wrought many miracles by him, and still 


12 THE DECAMERON 


continued to work for such as recommended themselves 
devoutly to him. 

Thus lived and died master Ciapperello da: Prato, and 
became a saint as you have heard, of whom I will not say 
but he may be happy ; for though his whole life could not 
be worse, it is not impossible, but, before the hour of his 
death, he might be such a penitent, that God should have 
mercy on him, and receive him into His kingdom. But as 
this we know nothing of, we have much more reason, from 
what appears, to conclude that he is more likely in the 
hands of the devil in purgatory, than amongst the angels in 
Paradise. And if it be so, great is God’s mercy towards 
us; who, not regarding our errors, but the purity of our 
intention, whenever we make choice of an improper medi- 
ator, hears us as well as if we had applied ourselves to one 
truly a saint. And therefore, that His grace may preserve 
us in our present calamity, and in this cheerful and agree- 
able society, let us praise His name, as we first began; re- 
commending ourselves to Him in time of need, with a full 
assurance of being always heard. 


NOVEL II 


Abraham the Jew, at the instigation of Jeannot de Chivigni, goes to the 
court of Rome, and seeing the wickedness of the clergy there, returns 
to Paris, and becomes a Christian. 


SomE parts of Pamphilus's story made them laugh heartily ; 
and the whole was much commended by the ladies, who had 
been very attentive; and, as it was now ended, the queen 
ordered Neiphile, in the next seat to her, to go on in the 
method she had prescribed, who, being as affable in be- 
haviour as her person was beautiful, very cheerfully answered 
that she was willing, and began in this manner :— 
Pamphilus has showed us, in his novel, the great goodness 
of God in not regarding any errors of ours, which proceed 
from the blindness and imperfection of our nature. And I 
intend to set forth in mine, how the same goodness of God 
(by bearing with the vices of those persons, who, though — 


Aah Ss a ae 


FIRST DAY 13 


obliged to give testimony both in their words and actions 
concerning it, yet do the reverse) displays itself in the most _ 
plain and evident manner ; whence we may be taught more 
steadily to persevere in what we believe. 

At Paris there lived, as I have been told, a great merchant, 
and a worthy person, called Jeannot de Chivigni, a dealer 
in silk, and an intimate friend to a certain rich Jew, whose 
name was Abraham, a merchant also, and a very honest 
man; and Jeannot, being no stranger to his good and 
upright intentions, was greatly troubled that the soul of so 
wise and well-meaning a person should perish through his 
unbelief. He began, therefore, in the most friendly manner, 
to entreat him to renounce the errors of Judaism, and em- 
brace the truth of Christianity, which he might ‘plainly see, 
as the most wise and holy institution, daily to gain ground, 
and flourish more and more, whereas their religion was 
dwindling to nothing. The Jew answered, that he esteemed 
no religion like his own ; that he was born in it, and in it he 
intended to live and die; nor could anything make him alter 
his resolution. Notwithstanding this, Jeannot began, in a 
few days, with the same arguments over again, setting forth, 
in as awkward a manner as a merchant must be supposed to 
do, for what reasons our religion ought to be preferred: and 
though the Jew was well read in their law, yet, whether it 
was his regard to the man, or that Jeannot had the spirit of 
God upon his tongue, he began to be greatly pleased with 
his arguments; but continued obstinate, nevertheless, in his 
opinion, nor would suffer himself to be converted. Jeannot 
continued his most earnest solicitations, insomuch that the 


Jew, overcome at last by them, said: ‘‘I perceive, /e:nnot, 
you are very desirous I should become a Chri I am 
willing to do as you would have me, but first I ave » mind 
to go to Rome, to see him whom you call Gc car on 
earth, and to consider his ways a little, and ‘ose of -his 
brother cardinals ; and if they appear in such < to me 
that I may be able to comprehend by them, oy what 
you have said, that your religion is better than 6, as you 
would persuade me, I will then do as I said © >erwise I 
_ will continue a Jewas Iam.” When Jeannot ©. this he 


was much troubled, and said to himself: “J +. © lost all 


14 THE DECAMERON ; 


my labour, which I thought well-bestowed, expecting to have 
converted this man; for should he go to Rome, and see the 
' wickedness of the clergy there, so far from turning Christian, 
were he a Christian, he would certainly become a Jew.” 


Then.applying himself to Abraham, he said: “ Alas! my | 


friend, why should you be at the great trouble and expense 
of such a journey? Not to mention the dangers, both by 
sea and land, to which so rich a person as yourself must be 
exposed, do you think to find nobody here that can baptize 
you? Or if you have any doubts and scruples, where will 
you meet with more able persons than are here to clear 
them up for you, and to answer such questions as you shal! 
- put to them? You may suppose the prelates to be like 
what you see in France; but more perfect indeed, as they 
are nearer to the principal pastor. Then let me advise you 
to save this journey against another time, when you may 
want some pardon or indulgence, and probably then I may 
bear you company.” 

The Jew answered, “I believe it is as you say; but to 
make short of the matter, I am fully resolved, if you would 
have me to do what you have so much solicited, to go 
thither; else I will in no wise comply.” Jeannot seeing 
him determined, said, ‘‘God be with you!” and, supposing 
that he would never be a Christian after he had seen Rome, 
gave him over for lost. The Jew took horse, and made the 
best of his way to Rome, where he was most honourably 
received by his brethren, the Jews; and, without saying a 
word what he was come about, he began to inspect narrowly 
into the manner of living of the pope, the cardinals, and 


other prelates, and of the whole court; and, from what he 


himself perceived, being a person quick of sight, and as he 
was informed by others, he found that, from the highest to 
the lowest, they were given to all sorts of lewdness, without 
the least shame or remorse; so that the only way to obtain 
anything considerable was, by applying to prostitutes of 
every description. He observed, also, that they were 
generally drunkards and gluttons, and, like brutes, more 
solicitous about their bellies than anything else. Inquir- 
ing farther, he found them all such lovers of money, that 
they would not only buy and sell man’s blood in general, 


SR UE A NSN OI De aS 
FIRST DAY r5 


but even the blood of Christians, and sacred things, of 
what kind soever, whether benefices, or pertaining to the 
altar : and they drove as great a trade of this, as there is 
in selling cloth and other commodities at Paris: that to 
palpable: simony they had given the plausible name of 
procuration, and debaucheries they called supporting the 
body ; as if God had been unacquainted with their wicked 
intentions, and, like men, was to be imposed upon by the 
names: of things. These and other things which I shall 


pass over, gave great offence to the Jew, who was a sober — — 


' and modest person; and now thinking he had seen enough, 
he returned home. 

As soon as Jeannot heard of his arrival, he went to see 
him, thinking of nothing so little as his conversion ; and 
they received one another with a great deal of pleasure: 
and in a day or two, after he had recovered from his 
fatigue, Jeannot began to inquire of him what he thought 
of the holy father, the cardinals, and the rest of the court! 
To whom the Jew immediately answered: “'To me it 
seems as if God was much kinder to them than they de- 
serve ; for, if I may be allowed to judge, I must be bold 
to tell you, that I have neither seen sanctity, devotion, or 
anything good in the clergy of Rome ; but, on the contrary, 
luxury, avarice, gluttony, and worse than these, if worse 
things can be, are so much in fashion with all sorts of 
people, that I should rather esteem the court of Rome to 
be a forge, if you allow the expression, for diabolical opera- ~ 
tions than things divine; and, for what I can perceive, 
your pastor, and consequently the rest, strive with their 
whole might and skill to overthrow the Christian religion, , 
and'to drive it from off the face of the earth, even where - 
they ought to be its chief succour and support. But as I | 
do not see this come to pass, which they so earnestly aim | 
at ; on the contrary, that your religion gains strength, and 
becomes every day more glorious ; I plainly perceive the 
Spirit of God to be the protector of it, as the most true 

nd holy of all others. For which reason, though I con- 
tinued obstinate to your exhortations, nor would suffer 
myself to be converted by them, now I declare to you, 
that I will no longer defer ‘being made a Christian. Let 


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us go then to the church, and do you take care that I 
be baptized according to the manner of your holy faith,” 
_Jeannot, who expected a quite different conclusion, was 
the most overjoyed man that could be; and taking him to 
our Lady’s church at Paris, he requested the priests there 
to baptize Abraham; and they, finding that it was his 
desire, immediately performed it ; Jeannot being his sponsor, 
_ gave him the name of John. He afterwards took care to 
have him well instructed in our faith, in which he made a 
“speedy proficiency, and became, in time, a great and good 
man. 





j 
j 
| : 
1 


NOVEL Ill 


. | Metehisecteth, a Jew, by a story of the three rings, escapes a most 
| dangerous snare, which Saladin had prepared for him. 


| Tents novel was universally applauded when Philomena 
thus began :— 
_ Neiphile’s story puts me in mind of what happened to 
certain Jew; for as enough has been said concerning God 
and the truth of our religion, it will not be amiss if we 
descend to the actions of men. I. proceed, therefore, to 
the relation of a thing, which may make you more cautious 
for the time to come, in answering questions that shall be 
put to you. For you must know, that, as a man’s folly 
often brings him down from. the a exalted state of life 


to the greatest misery, so shall his secure him 


in_the midst of the utmost "danger andepocae eal a 
safe and honourable repose. There are many instances of 
people | being reduced by their foolishness, which I choose 
to omit, as they happen daily ; but what great cause for | 
comfort a person’s good understanding may at some times — 
fford, I shall make appear, as I promised, in the following 
short novel. 

_ Saladin was so brave and great a man, that he had 
raised himself from an inconsiderable person to be Sultan 
of Babylon, and had gained many victories over both. the i 
Turkish and Christian princes. This monarch, having in 
divers ware ond he manv evtraordinarv eynences rnin 


) 





a 7 tren t “RAED > De a ie Cae! Cea eh Re NY yo 
Ber se hy re e ; Gun 
Fetus, kote Ne ; ie | x "hea aa? 
rn E ” 


© FIRST DAY: | 17 


through all his treasure, some urgent occasion fell out, 
that he wanted a large sum of money. Not knowing which 
way he might raise enough to answer his necessities, he at 
last called to mind a rich. Jew of Alexandria, named 
Melchizedeck, who let out money to interest. Him _ he 
believed to have wherewithal to serve him ; but then he was 
so covetous, that he would never do it willingly, and he was 
unwilling to force him. But as necessity has no law, after 
much thinking which way the matter might best be effected, 
he at last resolved to use force under some colour of 
reason. He therefore sent for, and received him in a most 
gracious manner, and making him sit down, thus ad- 
dressed him: “Honest man, I hear from divers persons 
that thou art very wise, and knowing in religiops. matters ; 
wherefore I would gladly know from thee which religion 
thou judgest to be the true one, viz., the /Jewish, the 
Mahometan, or the Christian?” The Jew (truly a wise 
man) found that Saladin had a mind to trap him; and 
perceiving that he must:gain his point should he prefer,any 
one religion, after considering a little how best to avoid the 
snare, his invention at last supplied him with the following 
answer. ‘The question which your Highness has pro- 
posed is very curious ; and, that I may give you my senti- 
ments, I must bey leave to tell a short story. 

“I remember oiten to have heard of a great and rich 
man, who, among his most rare and precious jewels, had 
a ring of exceeding yreat beauty and value; and being 
proud of possessing a thing of such worth, and desirous 
that it should continue for ever in his family, he declared, 
‘by will, that to which soever of his sons he should give this 
ring, him he designed for his heir, and that he should be 
respected as the head of the family. That son to whom 
the ring was given, made the same law with respect to his 
descendants, and the ring passed from one to another ina 
long succession, till it came to a person who had three 
sons, all virtuous and dutiful to their father, and all equally” 
beloved by him. And the young men, knowing what de- 
pended upon the-ring, and ambitious of superiority, began 
‘to entreat their father, who was now growing old, every 
ene for himself, that he would give the ring to him. The 


LO low VECAMERON 


good man, equally fond of all, was at’a loss which | 
prefer; and as he had promised’ all, and being willing 1 
satisfy all, privately got an artist to make two ‘others, whic 
were so like the first, that he himself scarcely knew th 
true one! and at his death gave one privately to each ¢ 
his sons. They afterwards all claimed the honour ani 
estate, each disputing them with his brothers, and produc 
ing his ring; and the rings were found so much alike, tha 
the true one could not be distinguished. To law the 
they went, which should succeed, nor is that yet decided 
And thus it has happened, my lord, with regard to the 
' three laws given by God the Father, concerning which yor 
proposed your question: every. one believes he is the true 
heir of God, has His law, and obeys. His commandments 
but which 1 ich is in the right is uncertain in lke manner as of 
the rings.” 








Saladin perceived that he had escaped the net which > 
was spread fc for him; he therefore resolved to discover his © 


necessity to him, to see if he would lend him money, 
telling him at the same time what he designed to have 
done, had not his discreet answer prevented him. The 


Jew freely supplied him with what he wanted, Saladin: 


afterwards paid him with a great deal of honour, made him 
large presents, besides maintaining him nobly at his court, 
and was his friend as long as he lived. 


NOVEL IV 


A monk having committed an offence, for which he ought to have been 
severely punished, saves himself by wittily proving his abbot guilty 
of the very same fault. 


YTuus ended Philomena, when Dioneus, who sat next t¢ 
her (without waiting the queen’s order, as knowing that hi 
was to follow in course), spoke as follows: 

If I understand you right, ladies, we are assembled her 
to amuse ourselves by telling stories: whilst nothing, ther 
is done contrary to this intention, I suppose every one he 
liberty to relate what he thinks will be-most entertaining 


FIRST DAY 19 


therefore, having heard how, by the pious admonitions of 
Jeannot de Chivigni, Abraham the Jew was advised to his 
soul’s salvation; and also how Melchizedeck, by his good | 
sense, saved his wealth from the designs of Saladin ; I shall 
without fear of reproof, show, in few words, how cunningly 
a monk saved his bones from the punishment intended 
him. 

There was once, in the territories of Lunigiana, a mon: 
astery, better stored both with monks and religion than 
many are now-a-days, to which belonged a young monk, 
whose constitution neither fasting nor praying could humble. 
Now it happened one day, early in the morning, whilst his 
brethren were all asleep, that, taking a walk about their 
church, which stood in a lonesome place, he cast his eye 
upon a farmer’s daughter, who was gathering herbs, and 
immediately felt a strong temptation, ill suiting with his 
profession; and drawing near, he entered into discourse 
with her, and prevailed upon her to go to his cell with him, 
before anybody was stirring abroad to see them; where, 
whilst they were diverting themselves together, it happened 
that the abbot, being just awake, and passing by the door, 
thought he heard something of a noise within; and laying 
his ear to listen, could distinguish a woman’s voice. At 
first he was inclined to make him open the door, but he 
afterwards thought of a different method, and returned to 
his chamber to wait till he came out. The monk, though 
he was pleased with his companion, could not help being a 
little suspicious of a discovery, and imagining that he heard 
somebody treading at the door, he peeped through a crevice, 
and saw the abbot standing to listen; and knowing that he 
was detected, and should be soundly punished, he became 
very uneasy. Yet, without showing anything of it to the 
girl, he was contriving how to get clear of the affair; and 
he hit on a stratagem which succeeded to his heart’s desire. 
Pretending that he could stay no longer—‘‘I must go,” he 
cried, ‘‘and will contrive a way to get you off without being 
seen; lie still, then, till I return.” He now locked the 
door ‘after him, and carried the key to the abbot, as is usual 
when they stir out of the monastery, and Bete a good 
face on the matter, he said—‘“ Reverend father, I could not 


20 THE DECAMERON 


get all my wood home this morning, and if you please I 
will go now and fetch the remainder.” The abbot, willing 
to make a more perfect discovery, took the key, and gave 
leave. No sooner was the other departed, but he began to 
consider what he had best do in this case; whether to 
open the door in presence of all the monks, that so, the 
offence being known to all, they could have no room to 
murmur when he proceeded to punishment ; or, whether 
he should not rather inquire of the damsel herself, how she 
had been brought thither. Supposing, also, that she might 
be a person’s daughter whom he would not have disgraced 
in that public manner, he thought it best to see who she 
was first, and then come to some resolution. \ So stepping 
privately to the chamber, he went in, and locked the door 
after him. The girl, on seeing him, was in great confusion, 
and fell a weeping ; whilst our abbot, finding her to be 
young and handsome, was seized (old as he was): with the 
same desires as the young monk had been, and began to 
reason thus with himself: ‘‘ Why should’I not take a little 
pleasure when I may have it? for plague and: trouble I 
know enough every day. She is handsome, and nobody 
can ever know it.’ If I can persuade her, I see no reason 
why I should not. Such another offer may never fall in 
my way, and I hold it best to take it whilst I can have it.” 
Upon this, his purpose of going thither being quite changed, 
he went nearer, and began to comfort her, desiring: her not 
to weep; and making some farther advances, acquainted 
her, at last, with his intention; and she, who was made 
neither of flint nor steel, easily complied. The monk, who, 
under pretence of going to the wood, had concealed himself 
in-the dormitory; on seeing the abbot go alone to his 
chamber, promised himself success; but when he saw him 
lock the door, he thought it past all doubt; and coming 
from the place where he lay hid, he heard and saw through 
a grating in the door all that passed between them. ‘The 
abbot, after he had stayed some time, locked the door 
again, and returned to his chamber; and supposing the — 
monk to be now come from the wood, he resolved to> 
reprimand and imprison him, that so the girl might remain 
solely to himself; and causing him to be sent for, he gave 


FIRST DAY 21 


him a severe rebuke, and ordered him to prison. The 
monk answered, yery readily,—‘‘ Good sir, I have not been 
so long of the Benedictine order, to be acquainted with all 
the particularities thereto belonging : your reverence in- 
structed me well in the observance of fasts and vigils ; but 
you never told me how I was to behave with regard to 
women. But, as you have so lately set me an example, I 
promise, if you will forgive me, to follow it, and to do here- 
after as I have seen you.” The abbot being quick of ap- 
prehension, found the monk knew more than he expected, 
and being ashamed to punish him for a crime of which 
himself was known to be guilty, he pardoned him; and 
enjoining his silence, they had the girl conveyed privately 
out of the monastery, whither she was afterwards often said 
to return. 


NOVEL V 


The Marchtoness of Monferrat, by an entertainment of hens, and some 
witty speeches, cures the King of France of his dishonourable love. 


D1oNnEus’s story had put all the ladies to the blush, at the 
very beginning ; and they looked at each other with a sort 
of smile all the time it lasted; giving him to know, by a 
gentle reprimand, that such sort of tales should not be 
told among women. The queen then pointed to Flam- 
metta, who sat next, to take her turn, who most cheerfully 
began in this manner: 

It is no little joy to mé, to find the force of smart and 
witty replies so well set forth in what is already passed 
among us. And, as it is accounted a mark of good sense 
in men, to aim at ladies of superior quality to themselves ; 
sO is it no less a token of the greatest discretion in women, 
to take care never to be surprised in love by men of higher 
degree. For which reason I shall now relate, how a woman 
by her wit and address may ward off an attack of that kind, 
when there is a design upon her honour. 

The Marquis of Monferrat was a person of great valour, 
and being standard-bearer to the church, was gone in a 
general crusade of the Christian princes against the Turks. 


22 THE DECAMERON 


And one day as they were discoursing of his prowess at the 
court of Philip, surnamed the Short-sighted, who was pre- 
paring in France for the like expedition, a courtier said, 
in the presence of the king, that the whole world had not 
so accomplished a pair as the marquis and his lady; for as. 
much as he excelled other cavaliers in valour, so much was 
she superior to the rest of her sex in worth and beauty. 
These words so affected the king, that from that very 
moment, though he had never seen her, he began to be 
passionately in love. And he resolved to go by land as far 
as Genoa, that he might have an honourable pretence for 
paying her a visit, thinking that, as the marquis was absent, — 
he could not fail of accomplishing his desires. With this: 

design, having sent the greatest part of his company before, 
he set forward with a small retinue, and being come within . 
a day’s journey of the place he sent her word, that on the © 
morrow she might expect his company at dinner. The 
lady very cheerfully replied, that she should esteem it a — 
singular favour, and would make hii heartily welcome. 

A long while she could not conceive why so great a — 
prince should come to see her, when her husband was from 
home; but supposing at last that the fame of her beauty 
must have drawn him thither, she resolved nevertheless, as — 
she was of a noble spirit, to show him due respect: for — 
which purpose she summoned the principal gentry, who — 
were left in the country, to consult them about what was 
necessary for his reception, reserving the entire manage- 
ment of the feast to herself. And, buying all the hens that 
were in the country, she ordered the cooks to get nothing 
else for his majesty’s dinner, but to dress them all the 
different ways possible. 

Next day the king came, and was received by the lady 
with great joy, and had all due honour paid him; and 
finding her even exceed what had been said before in her 
favour, he was greatly astonished; he then retired a while 
into the apartments, which were provided for him, to repose 
himself; and when dinner was ready his majesty and the 
lady sat down at one table, and their attendants at other 
tables, all placed according to their respective qualities. 

. Here the king was served with dishes one after another, 





FIRST DAY 23 


and with the most costly wines, feasting his eyes yet more 
with the sight of the lady, and was extremely pleased with 
his entertainment. But. observing at last that all the 
different courses, however tossed up and variously cooked, 
were nothing but hens, he began to wonder; and though 
he knew that the country about was well stored with 
venison and wild fowl, and he had signified: his intention 


_ time enough for them to have provided both, yet, being 


; 
i 





unwilling, how great soever his surprise might be, to 
mention anything but concerning the hens, turning a 
merry countenance to the lady, he said, “Madam, are 
only hens bred in this country, and no cocks?” 

The lady, who well understood the meaning of his 
question, now thinking that she had a fit opportunity of 
letting him know her sentiments, boldly answered: ‘‘ Not 
so, my Lord; but women, however they may differ in dress 
and titles, are the same here as in other places.” 

The king hearing this, immediately found out the mean- 


ing of the entertainment; as also what virtue lay couched 


under her answer. And being sensible that words would 
be spent in vain on such.a lady, and force he could not 
use; he therefore judged it more becoming his honour to 
stifle his ill-conceived passion; and so without more words 
(as being afraid of the lady’s replies), when dinner was 
over, that he might shadow his dishonourable coming by 
a hasty departure, he thanked her for the honour he had 
received, took his leave, and posted away to Geroa. 


NOVEL Vi 


A plain honest man, by a jest accidentally let fall, very wittily 
veproves the hypocrisy of the clergy. 


EMILIA, whose turn came next (the genteel reproof given by 
the marchioness to the King of France, being approved by 
the whole assembly), began in this manner :— 

Nor will I conceal a most severe expression made use of 


_ by an honest simple man to a most sordid and avaricious 


monk, which you will both commend and laugh at. 
There was, not long since, in our city, a friar belonging 


24 THE DECAMERON 


to the Inquisition, who, though he laboured much to appear 
righteous and zealous for the Christian faith, yet was he a 
much better inquisitor after such as had full purses, than 
those who aeld heterodox opinions. By which great care 
of his, he soon found out a person better stored with money — 
than sense. 

This man, not so much out of profaneness as want of 
thought, and perhaps overheated with liquor into the bar- 
gain, unluckily said to one of his companions, that he had 
better wine than Christ himself had ever drunk: which 
being reported to the inquisitor, and he understanding that 
the man’s estate was large, and that he was full of money, 
sent all his myrmidons, had him seized, and commenced a 
process, not so much with a design of amending him in 
matters of faith, as to ease him of part of his money, as he 
soon did. 

The man being brought before him, he inquired whether 
it was true what had been alleged against him; and the 
poor man immediately answered, that it was, and told him 
in what manner the words were spoken. To whom the 
most holy inquisitor (devoted to St. John with the golden 
beard) replied: ‘f What! dost thou make Christ a drunkard, 
and curious in the choice of wines, like your common sots 
and frequenters of taverns? and now wouldst excuse it as a 
small matter? And so it may seem to thee; but I tell 
thee, should I proceed with the rigour of justice, thou 
wouldst be burnt alive for it.” With these and such-like 
words, as if he had to do with a downright atheist, he so 
terrified the poor wretch, that he was forced to have 
recourse to a little of St. John’s golden grease (a most 
sovereign remedy against the pestilential avarice of the 
clergy, especially of the lesser friars, who are forbidden the 
use of money, although it be not mentioned by Galen in 
his book of medicines), with which he anointed his hands 
to such purpose, that the fire and faggot, with which he had 
been threatened, were changed into a cross; which, being 
yellow and black, seemed like a banner designed for the 
Holy Land. The money being paid, he was to stay there 
for some time, being ordered, by way of penance, to hear 
mass of the holy cross every morning, to visit him also 


FIRST DAY 25 


at dinner-time, and to do nothing the rest of the day but 
what he commanded ; all which he performed punctually : 
and one morning it happened, that, during mass, the gospel 
was read, wherein were these: words: ‘You shall receive 
a hundred for one, andso possess eternal life ;” which he 
kept thoroughly in his mind, and being come, at dinner- 
time, the inquisitor asked him, whether he had heard mass 
that morning. ‘Yes, sir,” replied the man very readily.— 
“Hast thou heard anything therein,” quoth the inquisitor, 
“wherein thou art doubtful, or desirous to ask any ques-" 
tions P”’—* No, surely,” said the honest man, “and: believe 
all that I have heard most steadfastly; only one thing, 
I remember, which occasions great pity in me for you and 
the rest of your brethren, as to what will become of you in 
the other world.”—‘‘ And what are those words,” replied 
the other, “‘ which make you pity us so much ?””——**O, good 
sir,” said the man, ‘‘do you remember the words of the 
gospel? ‘You shall receive a hundred for one.’”—‘‘ Well, 
what of them?” quoth the inquisitor.—‘I will tell you, 
sir,” continued he: ‘‘ Ever since I have been here, have I 
seen sometimes one, and sometimes two great cauldrons 
of broth, given out of your great abundance every day to 
the poor, after you and your brethren have been sufficiently 
regaled: and now, if for every:one of these you are to 
receive a hundred, you will all of you be drowned in broth!” 
This set the whole table a-laughing, and the inquisitor was 
quite confounded, knowing it to be a satire upon their great 
hypocrisy ; and were it not that he had been much blamed 
for his former prosecution, he would have ‘given him more 
trouble: he ordered him, therefore, in a rage, to go about 
his business, and to come near him no more. 


NOVEL VII 


Bergamino, by telling a tale of a certain witty person named Primasso, 
very handsomely reproves the avarice which had lately appeared in 
M, Cane della Scala. 


THE pleasantries of Emilia, and her agreeable story made 
them all laugh heartily, and they commended the contri- 


26 THE DECAMERON 


yance of the cross. After which Philostratus, who was to 
speak next, began:—It is a commendable thing, most 
worthy ladies, to hit a fixed. mark ; but more so, to see 
a thing suddenly appearing, as suddenly hit by an archer. 
The scandalous and most wicked lives of the clergy, furnish 
matter enough for reproach and raillery, to such as are 
so disposed, without much thinking upon the matter: and 
therefore, though the honest. man did well in touching 
master inquisitor, by aiming at the hypocritical charity 
‘of the friar, who gave that to, the poor which they would 
otherwise either throw away, or give to the hogs; yet is 
he more to be commended, of whom (the last story leading 
me to it) I am going to speak, who reproved M. Cane della 
Scala, a most magnificent person, heretofore, of a sudden 
and. unusual kind of avarice, which had lately appeared 
in him, figuring by other persons in a pretty novel, that 
which he intended to say concerning themselves, and which 
was as follows: M. Cane della Scala was known all over 
the world, as well for the wealth with which fortune had 
blessed him, as for his being one of the greatest and most 
magnificent lords that had lived in Italy since the days 
of the Emperor Frederick II. This person had determined 
to make a most sumptuous feast at Verona, to which people 
began to flock from all parts, those especially of the best 
fashion; when, on. a sudden, whatever was the cause, he 
altered his mind, and making such as came some little 
amends for their trouble, he sent them away. One person 
only remained unsatisfied, whose name was Bergamino, 
of incredible: wit and parts, who was still in hopes that 
things would at length turn out to his advantage. But 
M. Cane della Scala (having been made to understand, 
that whatever was given to him was entirely thrown away), 
neither spoke to, nor took the least notice of him. Berga- 
mino waited some days, and perceiving that no account 
was made of him, and finding his stock grew low with 
the expense of horses and servants at the inn, he’ became 
melancholy, yet resolved to wait longer, as not thinking 
it right to depart: and having brought three costly suits 
with him, which had been given him by other lords, for 
his more splendid appearance at this feast; the landlord 


FIRST. DAY || 27 


beginning to grow importunate, he first pawned one, and 
staying a little longer, a second ; and he had now begun to 
live upon the ‘credit of the last, resolving, when that was 
spent, to go away. In the meantime it happened that 
he met with M. Cane della Scala at dinner, where he 
presented himself before him with a sorrowful countenance; 
which the other observing, out of mockery rather than to 
take any delight in what should come from him, he said: 
“How farest thou, Bergamino? Thou seemest melancholy ; 
what is the reason?” ‘Bergamino, without any premedi- 
tation, yet as if he had thought long upon the matter, made 
a proper reply in the following story :— 

* You must understand, sir, that Primasso was a person 
well skilled in grammar, as well asa good and ready 
poet, by which means he became so famous, that though 
his person was not universally known, his fame and 
character were in every one’s mouth... Now it came 
to pass, that being once at Paris in a poor condition, 
as his virtue met with no better fortune, being little 
encouraged by such as were the most able, he heard 
much talk of the abbot of Cligni, who, next to the pope, 
was reputed to be the richest prelate of the church: of 
him it was said, that he always kept a most grand and 
hospitable court, and all were entertained freely that came 
thither, provided it was whilst the abbot was at dinner. 
Primasso hearing this, and being desirous of seeing great 
and worthy persons, resolved to be a witness of the magni- 
ficence of this abbot. He inquired, therefore, how far he 
dwelt from Paris? Being answered, about six miles, he 
supposed that, if he set out early in the morning, he should 
be able to reach thither by dinner. Accordingly he asked 
the way ; and having nobody to keep him company, lest he 
should mistake the road, and so come to a place where no 
victuals could be had, he took three loaves with him, 
depending upon finding water enough, for a /7#tle served 
him, wherever he went. The loaves he put in his bosom, 
and he nicked his time so well, that he arrived at the 
abbot’s exactly at the hour of dining; and entering into 
the great hall, and beholding the number of tables which 
were laid forth, and the vast preparations making in the 


28 THE DECAMERON 


kitchens, and everything else getting ready for dinner, 
he said to himself, ‘‘This man is truly as. generous as he 
has been always reported.’ Whilst he, was. considering 
these things attentively. the steward of the household 
ordered water to be brought, and they. washed their hands, 
and sat down every one at his respective table. . Now it 
happened that Primasso was placed facing the door where 
the abbot was to make his entrance. It was the custom in 
this court that neither wine, bread, nor any manner of food 
whatever, should be served to any of the tables, till the lord 
abbot himself was seated: whereupon the steward, having 
all things in readiness, acquainted his. lord, that nothing 
now was wanting but his presence. ‘The abbot ordered the 
door to be thrown open; and, as he was entering the hall, 
the first person he chanced to cast his eyes upon, was 
Primasso ; who being a stranger, as to his person, and but 
meanly apparelled, an ungenerous, as well as an unusual 
thought came into his mind. . ‘Behold,’ said he to him- 
self, ‘to whom I give my substance to be consumed!’ 
And turning back, he ordered the door to be shut again, 
and inquired of the people within, whether they could give 
any account of that poor fellow, that sat over against the 
door: they all.answered that they could not. Primasso, 
who had a kind of traveller’s appetite, and had not been 
used to fast so long, seeing the abbot did. not yet come, 
took one of the loaves out of his bosom, and began to 
devour it. The abbot, after he had waited a considerable 
time, sent one of his servants to see whether the fellow was 
gone: the servant brought word that he stayed, and was 
eating bread, which he seemed to have brought with him. 
‘Let him eat of his own,’ replied the abbot, ‘if he has it, 
for he shall taste none of mine to-day.’ Gladly would 
the abbot have had him go. away of himself, for he did 
not think it right to dismiss him. Primasso had now 
finished one loaf, and finding the abbot did not yet come, 
he began with the second, which was again reported to 
his lordship, who had sent to inquire as before. At 
length the abbot not coming, and Primasso having eaten — 
up his second loaf, now attacked the third. When this 
news was carried to the abbot, he began to consider with 





FIRST DAY 25 


himself in this manner: ‘ What strange fancy has possessed 
me to-day? What means this avarice, this scorn that I 
now show? And who is it that I thus disdain? For many 
years have I entertained all that would come, gentle or 
simple, poor or rich, and, as it has sometimes happened, the 
most paltry fellows imaginable; yet never before did I 
grudge it to any, as I now do to this person: surely avarice 
_ should have no influence over me in the case of a poor 
man. For aught I know, he may bea most extraordinary 
person, mean as he appears, and how unwilling soever 
I have hitherto been to show him respect.’ Having argued 
thus with himself, he would needs know ‘who he was, and 
finding him to be Primasso, who was come only to behold 
tis grandeur ; and knowing him to be a learned and worthy 
person, he became quite ashamed, and was desirous of 
making amends for his behaviour to him, by showing him 
all possible respect. And having feasted him as much as 
he cared for, he ordered him to be sumptuously apparelled, 
and putting money into his pocket, he made him a pre- 
sent of a horse, and left him at full liberty either to stay 
with him, or to depart at pleasure; wherewith Primasso, 
being highly satisfied, gave him his most hearty thanks, and 
returned to Paris on horseback, although he came thither 
on foot.” M. Cane della Scala, who was a man of good 
understanding, without’ any further explanation, easily 
understood what Bergamino meant to say, and, smiling 
upon him, replied: ‘‘ Well have you set forth your 
necessities and virtue, as well as my avarice; and truly 
I never found myself so overpowered with that vice, as 
now in your case: but I will banish it from me with the 
Same correction that you have taught me.” So he ordered 
his landlord to be paid his full charges, put on Bergamino 
a suit of his best clothes, gave him money in his pocket, 
and a good horse to ride on, and left it to his own choice 
whether to depart, or stay there with him. 


30 THE DECAMERON 


NOVEL VIII 


: 


Gulielmo Borstere, by a few smart words, checks the miserable 
covetousness of M, Ermino dé Grimaldi, 


LAURETTA, who sat next to Philostratus, hearing them 
commend Bergamino’s wit and perseverance, and knowing 
that it was now her turn, without waiting for any command, 
commenced in this manner :— 

The. last story puts me in mind how a courtier of wit 
teproached, to good purpose, the covetousness of a certain 
rich merchant ; which, although it may resemble the other, © 
will not be the less agreeable, as it tended to as good an 
end. 

There lived, not long since, at Genoa, a gentleman named 
Signior Ermino de’ Grimaldi, who, as was generally believed, 
surpassed all the people of Italy in estate and wealth ; and, 
as no,person in Italy could equal him in riches, so neither 
was there in the whole world one like him for greediness 
and sordid avarice. For, so far was he from being a friend 
to others, that he even denied himself common necessaries ; 
contrary to the custom of the Genoese, who delight to dress 
and live well. On which occasion he had lost his true 
name of Grimaldi, and was now known by no other than 
that of Ermino Avarice. | 

It came to pass, that, whilst by spending nothing, he 
went on accumulating wealth, there came to Genoa, a well- 
bred and witty gentleman called Gulielmo Borsiere, one 
nothing like the courtiers of the present day ; who, to the 
oreat reproach of the debauched: dispositions of such as 
would now be reputed fine gentlemen, should more properly 
style themselves asses, brought up amidst the filthiness and — 
sink of mankind, rather than in courts. And as, in former 
days, they spent their time in making up differences between — 
gentlemen, or in bringing about alliances by marriage, 
affinity, or friendship; and would divert themselves, and 
those about them, with facetious and witty repartees, and at 
the same time, like kind fathers, reprove and lash such 

> 


FIRST DAY 31 


as deserved it, although with little recompense: these 
upstarts of the present age employ their whole life in 
speaking ill of, and sowing dissensions among, their neigh- 
bours, reporting scandals and lies, and this in the presence 
of any one, upbraiding him with injuries, shame and de- 
famation, true or not true, upon the least occasion ; till by 
their false and deceitful flatteries, they bring gentlemen 


at last to everything that is vile and wicked. And him we 
see most caressed by his untoward masters, who uses the 


most wicked expressions and commits the vilest actions, to 
the eternal shame of the present world, and a demonstra- 
tion that virtue is gone from among: us, and hath left us 
wallowing in the sink of debauchery. But to return from 
whence I have been led by a just resentment farther than I 
intended. This Gultelmo, whom I before mentioned, was 
much visited and respected by the better sort of people at 
Genoa; when having made some stay here, and hearing 
much talk of Ermino’s sordidness, he became desirous of 


seeing him. Now Ermino had been informed of Gulielmo’s 


_worthy character, and having, however covetous he was, 


some small sparks of gentility, he received him in a courteous 
manner, and entering into discourse together, he took him, 
and some Genoese who came along with him, to see a fine 
house which he ‘had lately built: and when he had showed 
every part of it, he said: ‘Pray, sir, can you, who have 
heard and seen so much, tell me of something that was 
never yet seen, to have painted in my hall?” ‘To whom 
Gulielmo, hearing him speak so simply, replied, ‘‘ Sir, 


I can tell you of nothing which has never yet been seen, 


that I know'of ; unless it be sneezing, or some thing of that 


sort; but if you please, I can tell you of a thing which, I 
believe, you never saw.” Said Ermino (little expecting 


such an answer as he received), ‘‘I beg you would let 
me know what that is. © Gulielmo immediately replied, 
“Paint Liberality.” When’ Ermino heard this, such a 
sudden shame seized him, as quite changed his temper 
from what it had hitherto been, and he said, “Sir, I will 
have her painted in such’a manner, that neither you, nor 
any one else, shall ‘be able to say, hereafter, that I am 
unacquainted with her.” And from that time, such effect 


32 THE DECAMERON 


had Gulielmo’s words upon him, he became the most 
liberal and courteous gentleman, and was the most re- 
spected, both by strangers and his own citizens, of any 
in Genoa. 


NOVEL IX 


The King of Cyprus was so much affected by the words of a gentlewoman 
of Gascogne, that from being a victous prince he became very 
virtuous. 


THE queen’s last command rested on Eliza, who, without 
waiting for it, began in this manner :— 

It often happens that much pains have been taken, and 
many reproofs spent, in vain upon a person when some- 
times a word thrown in by chance, and without any such 
design, has done the business; which appears plainly from 
the novel recited by Lauretta; and I purpose, also, in 
a very short story, to demonstrate the same. A good thing 
said may often be of service, and ought to be regarded, © 
whoever the person is that reports it. 

During the reign of the first King of Cyprus, after the 
conquest of the Holy Land, by Godfrey of Boulogne, it 
happened that a gentlewoman of Gascogne went on a 
pilgrimage to visit the holy sepulchre, and, on her return | 
home, being arrived at Cyprus, she was ill-treated by a 
parcel of villains, and making her complaint without re- 
ceiving any redress, she resolved at length to go to the 
king; but she was told, that she would only lose her 
labour, for he was so careless in every respect, and so little 
of a man, that, far from avenging the injuries done to 
others, he suffered an infinite number of the most shameful 
affronts offered to himself; insomuch that whoever were 
offended at him might vent their resentment at any time in 
the most opprobrious language. Which, when she had 
heard, entirely despairing of redress, she yet proposed some 
comfort to herself in her calamity, to upbraid him for his 
meanness of spirit ; and coming all in tears before him, she 
said, ‘“‘ My lord, I appear in your presence not expecting to 
be revenged for the injuries I have sustained: but this 
small satisfaction I entreat, that you would teli me how you © 


FIRST DAY 33 


can bear those which I hear are committed towards your- 
self, that ] may from thence be instructed patiently to bear 
my own; which, God knows, were it in my power, I would 
willingly consign to you, since you endure them’so well.” 
The king, who till that hour had been dull and inactive, 
as if he had been roused from a long sleep, began with 
avenging that lady’s wrongs in the strictest manner, and 
from that time forward was most zealous in the punishment 
of every one who dared to do anything contrary to the 
honour of his crown. 


NOVEL X 


Master Albert of Bologna puts a lady to the blush, who thought to have 
done as much to him, because she perceived him to be amorously 
inclined towards her. 


AFTER Eliza had finished, the last charge remained to the 
queen; who, in the most becoming manner, began as 
follows :— 

Most virtuous ladies, as the stars when the sky is. clear 
are the ornament,of heaven, and as flowers in the spring are 
the beauty of meadows; in like sort is an easy manner ot 
speaking, and a facetious and pleasant discourse, set off 
and embellished by choice and elegant expressions, which 
by being short, are better suited to women than men, inso- 
much as many words, when fewer would serve the purpose, 
are most disagreeable in the former. For there are few 
women now who understand anything that is smart and 
witty when they hear it; or, if they do understand, scarcely 
know how to make a reply ; which is much to the disgrace 
of our sex. For that virtue which adorned the minds of 
women in former times, is passed in our days into the 
ornaments of the body; and she whose habit is most gaudy, 
'and set off with embroideries and fantastic ornaments, is 
|most esteemed ; not considering that, were you to load an 
jass with that finery, it would be able to carry more than 
jany one of them; and, therefore, in that particular, they 
deserve nof so much respect as the ass.. I am ashamed 

B 


34 THE DECAMERON 


to mention these things, because, whilst I censure other 
women, I am taxing myself. Such showy painted things, 
what are they else but statues, dull and insensible; or if 
they answer a question, they had better have been silent. 
Truly, they would have you think, that their not knowing 
how to converse with men of sense proceeds from their 
simplicity, and purity of mind, and therefore they call their 
own foolishness by the name of modesty ; as if there were 
no other honest woman but she who converses with her 
chambermaid, laundress, or kitchen-woman; and as if 
nature designed them no other kind of conversation. Most 
sure it is, that in this, as well as in other things, you are 
to consider when, where, and with whom, you speak ; for 
sometimes it happens, that a man or woman, intending by | 
some jest or other to put a person to the blush, without 
having compared their strength of wit with that of the other 
person, may find it recoil upon themselves. . Therefore, 
that we may be always upon our guard, and not verify the 
proverb which is in every one’s mouth, that women always 
choose the worst, I desire that this day’s last novel, which 
is to come from myself, may make us all wise, to the end 
that as we are distinguished from others by birth and 
quality, we may not be behind them in discreetness of 
behaviour. 

It is not long since a famous physician was living at 
Bologna (and perhaps may be so still), of extraordinary 
note in his profession, called Master Albert, one of so 
sprightly a disposition, though he was seventy years old, 
that notwithstanding his natural heat and vigour had quite 
forsaken him, yet disdained he not to receive the sparks of 
love. For having seen, at an entertainment, a most beauti- 
ful lady, a widow, called, as some say, Madam Malgherida 
de’ Ghisolieri, he was no less smitten than if he had been a 
younger person: nor could he rest at nights, unless he had 
seen the fair by day. This made him pass backwards and 
forwards, sometimes on foot, and sometimes on horseback, 
so often by the door, that she, and some other ladies of 
her acquaintance, could not help taking notice of it; and 
would often make themselves merry to see’ a person of his 
years and learning so ridiculously amorous; supposing love 


FIRST DAY 35 


to be a passion peculiar to young people. Master Albert 
continuing his marches to and fro by the house, it happened 
on a festival, that this lady was sitting at the door with 
some of her friends, and seeing him come at a distance, 
they all agreed to receive him handsomely, and afterwards 
to rally him on the affair of his love. Therefore, they rose 
up and invited him into a pleasant room, where he was 
entertained with rich wine and sweetmeats; and at length 
they began to inquire of him, as modestly as possible, how 
he could ever think of being in love with so fine a lady, 
seeing how much she had been solicited by many brisk, 
gay young gentlemen. Master Albert, perceiving that they 
had drawn him in among them, only to make a jest of him, 
put a merry countenance on the matter, and replied: 
“Madam, it should seem no strange thing to any con- 
siderate person, that I am in love, especially with you, 
because you so well deserve it. And though the power be 
taken away by age, yet is the will remaining, as also the 
‘judgment to distinguish those who are most worthy our 
affection; and this in a greater degree, as age has more 
knowledge than youth. ‘The hope that prompted me, who 
am old, to love you, who are courted by so many younger 
persons, is this; I have often, at an afternoon’s collation, 
observed ladies eating lupines and leeks, and though in the 
leek there be no goodness at all, yet is the head the least 
hurtful, as well as the most agreeable to the taste: but you, 
guided by a wrong appetite, will generally hold the head 
between your fingers, and eat the stalk, which is not only 
good for nothing, but has also a bad relish. Suppose, 
therefore, you choose a lover in the same manner; I shall 
be the happy person, and the rest of your lovers all dis- 
carded.” 

The lady was in some confusion, as well as her com- 
panions; and she said to him, ‘Sir, you have given us 
a very just and reasonable reprimand: I shall always 
value your respect, as being a learned and worthy person ; 
and, you may ever, as far as is consistent with my honour, 
‘command me.” Master Albert arose, gave the ladies 
thanks, took his leave very merrily, and departed. Thus 
she, never considering whom she jested with, met witb 


36 THE DECAMERON 


her match; of which, if you are wise, you will hereafter 
be careful. 

The sun was now descending in the west, aint the heat 
of the day much abated, when the novels were all ended ; 
upon which the queen pleasantly said, “‘ Nothing more 
remains to be done during my administration for the 
present day but to give you a new queen to-morrow, 
who must take her turn, according to the best of her 
judgment, in ordering everything that may be necessary 
for the continuance of our mirth. And though the day 
ought to continue till it is night, yet, unless you take 
time a little beforehand, you cannot so well provide for 
what is to come; and, that there may be time enough to 
prepare whatever the queen shall think proper for the 
next day, I think the following days ought to begin at 
this hour. In regard then to Him by whom all things 
live, and for our own well-doing, I appoint Philomena 
to be queen the second day.” And when she had thus 
spoken, she arose from her seat, and having taken the 
crown from her own head, she reverently placed it on 
Philomena’s, humbly saluting her first herself, and after- 
wards the rest of the company did the same, submitting 
themselves cheerfully to her government.—Philomena saw 
herself crowned with a gentle blush ; and calling to mind 
what Pampinea had just now said, that she might not 
seem remiss in her duty, she confirmed all the officers 
which Pampinea had appointed; then she ordered the 
morrow’s provision, as also the supper, so near approach- 
ing (they being to continue there), and afterwards spoke 
in this manner :— | 

“My dear friends, although Pampinea, more through 
her own courtesy than any merit of mine, has made me 
your queen, yet am I not disposed to follow my own 
judgment as to our manner of living, but rather to join 
my opinion with yours; and, therefore, that you may 
know what I intend to do, and so alter it at your 
pleasure, I shall declare it in few words. If I have well 
considered the method that has been taken to-day, it 
seems agreeable enough, and till we either grow weary, 
or find it inconvenient, I resolve not to change it. Hold- 


FIRST DAY 37 


ing on, then, as we have begun, we will rise and divert 
ourselves awhile by walking, and when the sun is down 
we will sup in the open air, and after we have had some 
songs and other diversions, it will be time to go to bed: 
to-morrow morning, whilst it is cool and pleasant, we will 
rise and take a walk where we like best, and return, as 
we have done to-day, about dinner-time, and dance; and, 
after reposing ourselves as before, come here again to 
continue our novels, which to me seems full as enter- 
taining as it may be useful. There are some things, 
indeed, which Pampinea could not accomplish, by reason 
of her late promotion, which I propose to _ perfect; 
namely, to keep you within the bounds of some particular 
subject, to which your novels are all to relate, and which 
is to be given you beforehand, that you may have time 
to think of some pretty story to the purpose; which, if 
you please, shall be this:—-As from the beginning of the 
world, people have been all along conducted by fortune 
through the various chances of life, and will be so to the end 
of it, you are all of you to relate a case where a person, 
after going through a variety of troubles, beyond all hope 
and expectation, at last meets with success.” They all 
approved the order that was given, and determined to obey 
it; Dioneus only excepted, who, after the rest were silent, 
said: “Madam, I approve your order, as the rest have 
done, and think it both pleasant and commendable ; but 
one special favour I beg may be granted me, whilst this 
company continues together, namely, not to let me be 
constrained by the law you have made, to relate a story 
according to the given theme, unless I please, but that I 
may choose something I like better. And that you may 
not think that I request this as if I were unfurnished with 
discourses of this kind, I am content to be the last in every 
day’s exercise.” The queen, knowing him to be a merry 
companion, and well considering that he would not have 
moved this request, but with a design to make the com- 
_pany laugh, when they were weary of any particular subject, 
agreed to what he desired, with the consent of them all. 
They now arose, and went to a crystal stream, which fell 
from a little hill into a vale shaded with trees, where, 


38 THE DECAMERON 


washing both their hands and their feet, much mirth passed 
among them, till supper drawing near, made them return 
to the palace. When that was over, the queen ordered the 
musical instruments to be brought, and that Lauretta 
should begin a dance, Emilia singing to her, and Dioneus 
playing upon the lute; with which Lauretta immediately 
complied, and Emilia sung the following song in a very 
fascinating manner. 


SONG 


I 


With my own charms so blest am I, 
Each other passion I defy ; 

For ever as I gaze, and find 

That good which still contents the mind 5 
Nor former flame, nor future love, 

The dear enjoyment can remove, 


II 


Nor does the good I thus possess 
Become by long admiring less ; 
No—greater far’s the joy I feel, 

Than heart can think, or tongue reveal: 
How great it is, they only know, 

Who long have sweetly languish’d so. 


Il 


And I (the more I fix my eyes, 

And feel the pleasing passion rise) 
Each thought direct, and wish confine, 
To make the promis’d blessing mine, 
And hope ere long a greater joy : 
Where is the nymph so blest as I? 


The song being ended, in which they all joined, though 
the words occasioned some speculation; and after a few 
other little sonnets, a good part of the night being now 
spent, the queen thought proper to put an end to the first 
day ; lights being consequently called for, she ordered 
every one to their respective chambers, to repose them- 
selves till the next morning. 


THE SECOND DAY 


ALREADY had the sun ushered in the new day, the birds 
upon the blooming branches attesting it with their merry 
songs, when the ladies and gentlemen arose, and went into 
the garden; where they spent some time in walking, and 
weaving chaplets of flowers ; and, as they had done the 
day before, after taking a repast in the open air, and danc- 
ing, they reposed themselves till the clock struck nine; at 
which time they took their places, as the queen had ap- 
pointed, in the same pleasant meadow around her. She 
_ being of a most graceful person, and having on her a crown 
of laurel, looked round in a most cheerful manner on the 
whole assembly, and then signified to Neiphile that she 
should begin; who, without offering any excuse, spoke as 
follows :— 


NOVEL I 


Martellino, feigning himself to be a cripple, pretends to be cured by 
being laid upon the body of St. Arrigo; but his roguery being dis- 
covered, he gets soundly beaten, and is afterwards apprehended, and 
in danger of being hanged, but at last escapes. 


It often happens, that he who endeavours to ridicule other 
people, especially in things of a serious nature, becomes 
himself a jest, and frequently to his great cost; as you will 
perceive by, what, in obedience to the queen’s command, I 
am now going to relate: an affair, which had a very un- 
lucky beginning, and which, beyond all expectation, ended 
happily enough to one of our city. 

There lived, not long since, at Triers, a German, called 
Arrigo, who was a poor man, and served as a porter, when 
any one pleased to employ him; yet was he reputed a 

39 


40 THE DECAMERON 
person of a good life; on which account (whether true or 
false I know not) it was affirmed by the people of Triers, 
that, at the very instant of his death, the bells of the great 
church rang of their own accord, which was accounted a 
miracle, and all declared that this Arrigo was a saint, and — 
they flocked to the house were the corpse lay, and carried 
it as a sanctified body to’ the great church; bringing thither 
the halt, lame, and blind, expecting that, by the touch of 
it, they would all recover. In so great’ a concourse ot 
people, it happened, that three of our own city arrived there, 
one of whom was named Stecchi, another Martellino, and 
the third Marchese; persons that frequented the courts of 
princes, to divert them as buffoons and mimics. None of. 
these having ever been there before, and seeing the great 
crowd of people running from all parts of the city, they 
were much surprised at it; and hearing the cause, were 
very desirous of seeing the corpse. They left their baggage, 
therefore, at. the inn, and Marchese said, “ We will see this 
saint; but I do not know how we shall contrive to get 
near enough, for the street is full of soldiers and persons in 
arms, whom the governor has stationed there, to prevent 
any tumult in the city: and besides, the church. is so 
thronged with people, that it will be impossible to get in.” 
Martellino, who was eager to be a spectator, replied, “I 
will find a way, notwithstanding, to get close to the very 
body.” How,” said Marchese, “is that possible ?”— 
“ T’ll tell you,” answered Martellino: ‘‘I intend to counter- 
feit a cripple, whilst thou shalt support me on one side, and 
Stecchi on the other, as if I were unable to walk by myself, 
bringing me towards the saint to be cured; and you will 
see everybody make way for us to go on.” They were 
much pleased with the contrivance, and went accordingly 
into a private place ; when Martellino distorted his hands, 
fingers, arms, legs, mouth, eyes, and his whole countenance 
besides, in such a manner, that it was frightful to behold 
him ; and nobody that saw him, but would have imagined 
that ‘he was really so lame and deformed. Being ‘carried 
in that guise by Marchese and Stecchi, they directed’ their 
way to the church, crying out in a most piteous manner all 
the way, to make room for God’s sake! to which the people 


SECOND DAY 4) 


condescended. Ina little time they attracted the eyes of 
every one, and the general cry was, ‘“* Room, room !” till at 
length they came where the body of St. Arrigo lay ; when 
Martellino was taken from them by some persons that 
stood around, and laid all along upon the body, to the end 
he might, by that means, receive the benefit of a cure. 
All the people’s eyes were now upon him, expecting the 
event; when he, who was master of his business, first began 
to stretch his fingers, then his hands, afterwards his arms, 
and at last his whole body; which, when the people saw, 
they set up such shouts in praise of St. Arrigo, that a clap 
of thunder would hardly have been distinguished. Now it 
happened that a Florentine was not far off, that knew 
Martellino very well (not whilst his body was distorted, but 
after his pretended cure), who fell a-laughing, and cried, 
“Good God! who would not have taken him to have been 
really a cripple?” Which some of the by-standers hear- 
ing, they immediately said, ‘‘ And was he not so? ”—*“ No,” 
_ answered the other, ‘“‘as God is my judge, he was always as 
_ straight as any person here; but he has the art, as you have 
now seen, of turning his body into what shape he pleases.” 
There needed nothing further to set them all on fire; they 
therefore pressed most violently on, crying out to seize the 
villain, that blasphemer of God and His saints, who being in 
no wise disordered comes here to make a jest of our saint 
and us. Whereupon they dragged him by the hair of the 
head, and threw him upon the ground, kicking him and 
tearing the clothes off his back; nor was there a person 
there that did not endeavour to give him a blow; whilst 
_ Martellino kept crying out for God’s sake to have mercy ; 
but all to no purpose: for the blows thickened faster upon 
him. Marchese and Stecchi now began to be in some pain 
for themselves, and not daring to help him, they cried out 
with the multitude, ‘‘ Kill him! kill him!” contriving all 
the time how to get him out of their hands: nevertheless 
he had certainly been murdered, but for the following ex- 
pedient. Marchese, knowing that the officers of justice 
were at the door, ran to the lieutenant that commanded, 
| crying out, “Sir, help me, for God’s sake; here’s.a fellow 
| that has picked my pocket of a hundred florins ; I beg you 
| B2 





42 THE DECAMERON 


will assist me in getting them back again.” And immedi: 
ately twelve of the sergeants ran where Martellino was in 
the utmost jeopardy, and with the greatest difficulty got 
him away, all trodden under foot and bruised as he was; 
and carried him to the palace, followed by many ‘of’ the 
people, who had been incensed against him; and who now 
hearing that he was taken up for a cut-purse, and seeing no 
other way of revenging themselves, declared that they had 
also been robbed by him. On hearing these complaints, 
the judge, who was an ill-tempered man, took him aside 
and examined him; whilst Martellino answered him in a 
jesting manner, making no account of their accusations. 
At which the judge being provoked, ordered him to be tied 
_by the neck, and soundly lashed, that he might make him 
confess the crimes he was charged with, in order to hang 
him afterwards. He being therefore bound down to the 
ground, the judge asking him if those things with which he 
was accused were true; and telling him that it would be in 
vain to deny them: he then made answer and said, “* My 
lord, Iam ready to confess the truth; but please to order 
first all my accusers to say when and where I robbed them, 
and I will then tell you truly what I am guilty of, and what_ 
not.” ‘The judge readily consented, and having summoned 
some of them before him, one said he had picked his 
pocket eight days ago; another four days, and some made 
answer that he had robbed them that same day. Martellino 
replied, ‘‘ My lord, they are liars; for I had not been here 
many hours (and would to God I had never come at all !) 
before I went to view this saint, where I got abused as you 
now see. That this is true, the officer who keeps your 
book of presentations, as also my landlord, will testify for 
me: therefore I beg you would not torture and put me to 
death, at the instances of these people.” When Marchese 
and Stecchi heard what passed before the judge, and that 
their friend was severely handled, they began to be in great 
fear about him, saying to themselves, that they had taken 
him out of the frying-pan, to throw him into the fire: and 
they ran from place to place, to find out their landlord, 
whom they acquainted with what had happened : he, laugh- 
ing heartily at their story, carried them to one Alexander | 


SECOND DAY 43 


Agolanti, a person of great interest in the city, to whom 
they related the whole affair, entreating him to have pity on 
poor Martellino. Alexander, after much laughter, went to 
the governor of the town, and prevailed upon him to have 
Martellino brought into his presence. The messenger that 
went for him, found him standing before the judge in his 
shirt, all terrified, because he would hear nothing in his 
favour (having an aversion perhaps to our country people), 
and being probably resolved to hang him at all events: 
and he refused, till he was compelled, to deliver him up. 
Martellino being brought before the governor, told hir 
everything that happened; and entreated him, as a special 
favour, that he would‘let him go, saying, that till he came 
to Florence, he should always think he had the rope about 
his neck. The governor was highly diverted with the 
relation ; and ordering every one a suit of apparel, beyond 
all their hopes they escaped from the most imminent 
danger, and got safe and sound home. 


NOVEL II 


Rinaldo d Asti having been robbed, comes to Castel Gulielmo, where hs 
is entertained by a widow lady, makes good his loss, and returns 
safe home, 


Tue ladies all laughed immoderately at Martellino’s adven- 
ture, as did the gentlemen likewise, but more especially 
Philostratus, who, as he sat next to Neiphile, was ordered 
by the queen to begin his novel; and he immediately 
complied as follows :— 

I am going to relate a story, consisting partly of misfor- 
tune, and partly of love, which may be of use to such as 
walk in love’s uncertain paths ; in which it happens to those 
who have not said the Pater Noster of St. Julian, that they 
often get a bad night’s rest, though they lie in a good bed. 

In the time of Azzo, marquis of’ Ferraro, a certain 
‘merchant, named Rinaldo d’Asti, came’ to Bologna to 
transact some affairs of his own; which being done, and he 
on his return home, it chanced, as he came out of Ferrara, 


44 THE DECAMERON 


and was riding towards Verona, that he fell in with some 
persons, who seemed to be merchants also, but were in 
reality highwaymen, and unguardedly joined them. They, 
finding him to be a merchant, and supposing therefore that 
he must have money about him, resolved as soon as an 
opportunity offered, to rob him; and, that he should have 
no suspicion, they rode on discoursing with him like persons 
of reputation and character, showing themselves extremely 
complaisant and courteous, insomuch, that he thought 
himself happy in meeting with such good company, as he 
was alone, and had only one servant. Talking of various 
things, they began at last to speak of prayers, and one of 
the rogues, there being three in number, turned towards 
- Rinaldo, and said, ‘‘ And pray, sir, what sort of prayer do 
you use when you are upon a journey ?”—‘“ In good truth,” 
answered Rinaldo, “ I know little of those matters, and am 
master of very few prayers ; but I live in an old-fashioned 
way, and can tell that twelve pence make a shilling ; never- 
theless, I always use, when I am upon a journey, before I 
go out of my inn, to say one Pater Noster and one Ave 
Maria for the souls of the father and mother of St. Julian, 
and after that I pray to God and St. Julian to send me a 
good lodging at night: and let me tell you, sir, very often 
have I met with great dangers upon the road, from all 
which I still escaped, and when night drew on I always 
came to a good lodging; which favour I firmly believe St. 
Julian, to whose honour I speak it, hath obtained of God 
for me; nor do I think I should ever travel securely, or 
succeed in my lodging at night, were | to forget this prayer.” 

‘‘ Then,” said the other, ‘‘ to be sure you offered up that 
prayer this morning ?” | 

‘“‘ Most certainly I did,” answered Rinaldo. Said the 
rogue to himself, having determined how to handle him, 
“Thou wilt have need enough of it ; for, if I mistake not, 
thy lodging is like to be none of the best ;” and afterwards 
he added, ‘‘I have travelled much myself, yet did I never 
say that prayer, though I have heard it often commended, 
and I have always fared well, and now this night shall you 
see which of us will get the better lodging; I must own, 
however, that instead of it I have used the drupistz, or the 


SECOND DAY 45 


intemerata, or the de profundis, which, as my grandmother 
was wont to tell me, are of singular virtue.” 

Thus they travelled along, discoursing upon many sub- 
jects, and waiting for a fit time and place to put their,wicked 
purpose in execution; when at length it happened, that 
the time, growing late, and the place private, being at 
the ford of a river near Castel Gulielmo, they made their 
assault, and robbed and stripped him to the shirt ; and 
leaving him there on foot they said to him, ‘ Go, see if thy 
St. Julian will provide as good a lodging for thee to-night, 
as we shall have:” so, passing the river, away they went. 
The servant, like a rascal as he was, seeing his master 
attacked, rode away without offering the least assistance, 
and never stopped till he came to Castel Gulielmo ; where, 
it being late when he got in, without giving himself any 
further trouble, he took up his lodging. Rinaldo remained 
there in his shirt, without shoes or stockings ; the weather 
extremely cold, and snowing incessantly; not knowing 
what to do, the dark ‘night coming on apace, and he all 
over in a tremble, with his teeth chattering for cold, now 
began to look round for shelter where he might continue 
that night, for fear of being starved to death ; but seeing 
none (the whole country being laid waste by the late war), 
and being forced away by the cold, he trudged on towards 
Castel Gulielmo, not knowing whether his servant was gone 
thither or elsewhere, but supposing, if he got admittance, 
that he should meet with relief. © But before he came within 
a mile of the town, it grew quite dark ; and it was so late 
when he got thither, that finding the gates locked, and the 
bridge drawn up, he could obtain no entrance. Grieving 
much at this, and now quite discouraged, he looked about 
to see if he could find a cover from the snow: when by 
chance he spied a house hanging a little way over the walls 
of the castle ; under which he proposed to stand all night, 
and then to depart ; there he found a door in the wall, but 
fast locked ; and gathering some straw together which was 
lying about, he sat down thereon, all pensive and sad, and 
making loud complaints to St. Julian ; telling him, this was 
-not-according to the confidence he had always reposed in 
him. But St. Julian, who had a regard for him, soon 


46 THE DECAMERON 


provided a better lodging.. There was a widow lady in that 
castle, of great beauty, whom the Marquis Azzo loved as 
his life, and kept in that house under which Rinaldo’ had 
taken shelter. That very day the marquis was to come to 
stay all night with her ; she having secretly provided a bath 
for him, and a most elegant supper. Everything being 
now ready, and only the marquis’s company wanting, an 
express arrived with dispatches, which required him to take 
horse instantly: he therefore sent to the lady to excuse 
him, and posted away ; at which she was much. concerned, 
and not knowing how to pass her time, resolved to go her- 
self into the bath which she had provided for the. marquis, 
and then to sup and go to bed. Now it happened, that the 
bath was near to the door where poor Rinaldo was sitting ; 
so that she being therein, heard all his complaints and 
shiverings: whereupon she called her maid, and ordered 
her to look over the wall at the door threshold, and inquire 
who that person was there, and what he wanted. She 
went, and by the clearness of the sky could just discern — 
Rinaldo sitting in the manner before described ; and having 
demanded of him. who he was, he made answer as well as 
he could, trembling all the while so much that she could 
scarcely understand him, telling her how he came thither, 
and entreating her not to let him perish with cold.. The 
girl was moved to compassion, and returning to her mistress, 
related the whole story, who had pity on him likewise ; and 
recollecting that she had the key of the door, which served 
for the private admission of the marquis sometimes, she 
said, ‘‘Go and open the door gently: we have victuals 
enough, and nobody to sit down, and we may also spare 
him a lodging.” The maid commended her great charity, 
and having opened the door and found him almost: frozen 
to death, she said, ‘“‘ Make haste, good man, and get thee 
into this bath, which yet is warm ;” with which he immedi- 
ately complied, without waiting for any farther invitation; 
and he found himself so much refreshed by the warmth of 
it, that he seemed restored from death to life. Then the 
lady sent him some clothes, which had been her husband’s, 
and which fitted him as well in all respects, as if they had’ 
been made for him. Expecting her further commands, he 


SECOND DAY 4) 


began to thank God and St. Julian, who had delivered him 
from the prospect of a most terrible night, and brought him 
at last where he was like to meet with good» entertainment. 
The lady, having now reposed herself a little, ordered a 
great fire to be made in the hall, and coming thither, she 
inquired concerning the honest man, what sort of a person 
he was? ‘To whom the maid replied, ‘‘ Madam, now he is 
clothed, he seems to be a good handsome man, and well 
behaved.”—*‘ Go then,” said she, ‘‘ and call him, and bid 
him come to the fire,and he may also sup with me, for I 
fear he has had but a sorry supper.” When Rinaldo came 
into the hall, and saw the lady, who appeared to him to be 
a woman of consequence, he made her the most. profound 
reverence, showing all possible acknowledgments for the 
favours he had received. And the lady, finding him to 
answer the character she had received of him from her 
maid, made him sit down freely by the fireside with’ her ; 
and inquired concerning the misfortunes which had brought 
him thither, of which he gave her a faithful account, and 
obtained her easy credit, she having heard something of the 
servant’s coming thither before: she then told him what 
she knew of the matter, and how the fellow was to be met 
with in the morning. Supper being now served up, they 
washed their hands, and sat down together. He was tall in 
person, and agreeable enough both in countenance and 
behaviour, and a middle-aged man: she often, therefore, 
cast her eye upon him, and finding him to suit her fancy, 
as soon as supper was ended, advised with her maid whether 
she might not fairly (since the marquis had put such a 
slight upon her) make use of the opportunity which fortune 
had thrown in her way. ‘The girl, who knew how to please 
her mistress, readily concurred. The lady now returned to 
the fire, where she had left Rinaldo by himself, and looking 
pleasantly at him, she said, ‘‘ Why so thoughtful, sir ? does 
. the loss ofyour horse and a few clothes affect you so much? 
Comfort yourself ; you are in my house ; and I can tell you 
farther, that, seeing you in my husband’s clothes, I could 
not help thinking, several times to-night, that he himself 
was present, and I was going more than once to have 
saluted you.” Rinaldo was too great a connoisseur in love- 


48 THE DECAMERON 


matters not to take her meaning. The affair, therefore, 
was soon agreed, and to bed they went, and, in the morning, 
to prevent the least suspicion, she gave him some old 
clothes, and filled his pocket with money, begging of him 
to keep it secret ; and having directed him where to find 
his servant, she let him out at the same door he came in at. 
He therefore, as soon as it was broad day, entered into the 
castle as if he had come a great way off, where he found 
the fellow, and soon clothed himself out of his portmanteau ; 
and as he was going to mount his man’s horse, by great 
fortune, it happened that the three rogues, who had robbed 
him the day before, were taken up on some other account. 
and brought into the castle: when by their own confession, 
he got his horse, clothes, and money returned to him, and 
lost nothing but a pair of garters, which they knew not 
what was become of. Rinaldo now thanked God and St. 
Julian, and, mounting his horse, arrived safe at his own 
house, and the very’ next day the three villains ' were 
exhibited in public, dancing on nothing. | 


NOVEL II! 


Three young gentlemen lavish away their fortunes, and a nephew of 
theirs returning home in as desperate a condition, falls in com- 
pany with an Abbot, whom he afterwards found to be the King of — 
Englanda’s daughter, who marries him, and makes good his uncles’ 
losses, resettling them in their former prosperity. 


ALL admired the adventures of Rinaldo d’Asti, and com- 
mended his devotion, giving thanks to God and St. Julian 
who had succoured him in his great necessity. Nor was 
the lady blamed (though they did not care to speak out) 
for making use of the opportunity, that offered: whilst they 
were laughing at these things, Pampinea, finding that she 
was to speak next, after a little considering what she was to 
say, and receiving the queen’s command, began at last in 
this manner :;— | | 

The more we speak of the acts of fortune, so much the — 
more, to such as consider them attentively, there remains © 


SECOND DAY 49 


to be spoken: which none need wonder at, who consider 


that all things, which we foolishly call our own, are in her 
power ; and that she blindly wills them from one to another 
incessantly, and without any rule or method that can be 
discovered by us. Which, though it be showed every day 
in everything, and has also been enlarged upon in some 


_ former novels, nevertheless, as the queen is pleased that 


this should be our present subject, I shall add a story to 


-what has been said already; which I think you will not 


dislike. 

There dwelt, formerly, in our city, a knight named 
Tebaldo, who, as some report, was of the family of the 
Lamberti ; though others say he belonged to the Agolanti: 
but be that as it will, he was the most wealthy knight of all 
that lived in his time, and had three sons; the eldest was 
called Lamberto, the second Tebaldo, and the third Ago- 
lante, all courteous and genteel young persons; though the 


eldest was not above eighteen when their father died, 


leaving them in possession of his vast wealth; who, finding 
themselves.so rich, and having nobody to control them, 
began to spend apace, by keeping vast numbers of servants, 
and fine horses, and dogs, and hawks, with open house for 
all comers, making continual tilts and tournaments, and 
sparing no diversions that belong to gentlemen; indulging 
themselyes besides in every youthful lust and passion. 
They had not led this life long, before their riches began to 
waste, and their rents not being sufficient to defray their 
current expenses, they mortgaged and sold first one estate, 
and then another; so that they saw themselves coming to 
nothing, and then poverty opened their eyes, which had 
been hitherto kept shut. One day, therefore, Lamberto 
called his two brothers together, and set forth to them the 
great repute in which their father had lived, and the wealth 
he had left them, and how much they were now impover- 
ished, through their inordinate expenses ; advising them, in 
the best manner he was able, that, before matters grew 


_ worse, they should sell the little that was left, and retire 


from that quarter. His advice was followed ; and, without 


taking any leave, or making the least stir, they left Flor- 
ence, and went directly for England. Coming to London, 





Pe: ait ¥ 
50 THE DECAMERON 


they took a little house, and lived as frugally as possible, 
letting out money at interest. And fortune was so kind to 
them, that in a few years ‘they got a great deal of money: 
ne 2 by which means, it happened, that first one»and then 
another returned to Florence, where they recovered back a 
great part of their estates, and purchased others to them, 
and got married ; and keeping on their banking trade still 
in England, they sent a nephew thither, whose name was 
_ Alessandro, to manage their business. ‘The three brothers, 
therefore, continued at Florence ; and, forgetting to what 
misery they had been reduced by their former extravagance, 
and ndtwithstanding they all had families, began to spend 
_immoderately, having large credit from the merchants. 
_ Their expenses were supported for some years by returns 
from Alessandro, who had let out money to the barons 
7 upon their castles, and other estates, which turned to good 
- account, Whilst the three brothers continued spending in 
this manner, and borrowing whenever they stood in need, 
_ having their whole dependence upon returns from England, 
--—s- contrary to every one’s expectation, a war broke out there 
---~—-between the king and his son, which divided the whole 
kingdom, some taking part with one, and some with the 
other ; ; on which account, the barons’ castles, which were 

-_. in Alessandro’s possession, were seized on, rind nothing 
now was left him that turned to any profit : but living in 
hopes of peace every day, and then that he should have 
both principal and interest, Alessandro still continued in 
‘the kingdom, whilst the three brethren at Florence abated 
nothing of their extravagance, but continued borrowing 
more daily. And no money coming for some years, as was 
expected, they lost all their credit, and people being desir- 

ous of getting what was their due, their effects were seized, 
which not being found: sufficient, they were thrown into 
prison for the remainder, ‘and their wives and children 
dispersed up and down the country, in’a most distressed 
condition, with no prospect but of misery for the rest of 

the their lives. Alessandro, after waiting some years, and find- 
. ing no likelihood of peace in England, but that he continued 
_ there to no purpose, and in danger of his life, resolved’ for 
Italy; and he set out by himself; and as he was going out 





SECOND DAY 51 


of Bruges, he overtook a young abbot, clothed in white, 


attended with a great equipage: two ancient knights fol- 
lowed, related to the king. These Alessandro joined; and 


having made himself known to them, was well received. 


Travelling together, he modestly inquired who those 
monks were that rode before, with such a retinue, and 


_ whither they were going? When one of the knights made 


answer, and said, ‘ He that rides first is a young gentleman, 
a relation of ours, who is lately made abbot of one of the 


richest abbeys in.England; and, because he is younger 
than is required by the law for such a dignity, we are going 
to Rome to entreat our holy father to dispense with his 
want of years: but this is to be a secret.” The new abbot 
riding sometimes before his company, and sometimes 
behind (as is usual with persons on the road), got sight at 
last of Alessandro, who was a graceful, well-behaved young 


gentleman, and was so taken with him at the very first 
_ view, that he never saw any one he liked better: and having 


called him aside, he inquired who he was, whence he came, 


_and whither he was going. _ Alessandro answered him very 


ingenuously, and, at the same time, made him an offer of his 
little service. The abbot was much pleased with his modest 
and pretty manner both of speaking and behaviour; find- 
ing, though his business. was mean, that he was a gentleman. 
And being full of compassion for his losses, he began to 
comfort him in a friendly manner, bidding him to be of 
good courage, for if he were a worthy man, God might 
exalt him to a higher pitch than that from which fortune 
had cast him down; and desired him, as he was going 
towards Tuscany, to make one in his company, because he 
was likewise travelling thither. Alessandro returned thanks 
for the encouragement he had given him, and said, he was 
entirely at his service. The abbot riding on (having got 
some new fancies in his head, since the sight of Alessandro) 
chanced, after some days’ travelling, to come to a country 
village, which afforded but bad accommodation; and, 
because the abbot had a mind to lie there, Alessandro 
made him alight at the house of a person with whom he 
was acquainted, and provided hima bed in the least in- 
commodious part of the house. And being now become 


s 


52 THE DECAMERON 


steward of the household, as it’ were, to the abbot, he 
disposed of the company in different parts of the town, in 
the most convenient manner he was able. And after the 
abbot had supped, it being now midnight, and every one 
gone to rest, Alessandro then inquired of the landlord 
where he was to lie. Who made answer, ‘‘In good truth, 
sir, you see my house is quite full, so that I and my family 
must be forced to sleep on benches; yet there are some 
granaries in the abbot’s chamber: I can carry a pallet-bed 
for you thither, and you may rest as weli as you can.”— 
*‘ But, landlord,” quoth Alessandro, “how can I be in the 
abbot’s chamber, it being so small that there is no room 
for any of his monks? If I had thought of it before the 
curtains were drawn, the monks should have lain in the 
granaries, and I would have gone where the monks are.” 
Said the host, ‘The case is this; you may lie there, if you 
please, as well'as anywhere in the world: the abbot is 
asleep, and his curtains drawn; I can convey a little bed 
thither softly, and you may rest very comfortably.” Ales- 
sandro, finding that it might be done without disturbing the 
abbot, consented, and accommodated himself there with as 
little noise as possible. 

The abbot, whom his love kept awake, heard what passed 
between Alessandro and his landlord; and finding that 
Alessandro was there, he began to reason with himself in 
this manner: ‘‘ I have now a fit opportunity to compass my 
desires ; if I let this pass, the like may never offer again.” 
Resolving therefore to make use of it, and supposing that 
all was quiet in the house, he called, with a low voice, 
“« Alessandro!” and bade him come and lie down by him: 
who, after many excuses, undressed himself, and went to 
his bed. The abbot now laid his hand upon the other’s 
breast, as a lover would do; which Alessandro was much 
surprised at, and began to fear that he had some bad 
design ; which, as soon as the abbot perceived, he could 
not help smiling ; and having laid his bosom bare, he took 
Alessandro’s hand and put it upon it, saying, ‘* Be not 
afraid: convince yourself of what Iam,” Alessandro laid 
his hand there, and found two breasts smooth and delicate 
like polished ivory, which convinced him that it was a 





SECOND DAY 53 


woman: and he was going to have been more familiar ; 
when she interrupted him, saying, ‘“‘ Before you come 
nearer to me, observe what I am going to say: I am a 
woman, and not a man, as you see, and was now travelling 
to the pope, for him to dispose of me in marriage: but 
whether it be your good fortune or my unhappiness, since I 
first saw you, the other day, I could not forbear loving you, 
and I assure you, no woman ever loved a man better than 
I do you: I therefore am determined to marry you in pre- 
ference to any other person; and if you will not accept of 
me, go from whence you came.” Though she was unknown 
to Alessandro, yet, when he considered the company that 
| was with her, he supposed she must be a lady of distinction, 
and her person he saw was beautiful; therefore, without 
much consideration, he declared, that if she was willing, he 
should be highly pleased. She then rose up in bed, and 
turning towards a crucifix that stood upon the table, gave 
a ring into his hand, and’ made him espouse her. The 
' mext morning they proceeded on their journey to Rome; 
and in a day or two she, with the two knights and Ales- 
sandro, were introduced to his holiness, and, after the 
proper ceremony was over, she addressed herself to him in 
this manner: “ Holy father, you know better than anybody 
that they who desire to live honestly and well should avoid, 
as much as in them lies, all occasions which may lead them 
to act otherwise. For which reason have 1 come away, 
with a great part of the treasure of my father, who is King 
of England, and was about to marry me, young as I am, to 
the King of Scotland, who is very old, to beg that your 
holiness would dispose of me in marriage. Nor was it the 
age of the King of Scotland that made me fly, so much as 
the fear of doing, through my frailty, was I married to him, 
what should be contrary both to the laws of God, and to 
the honour of our royal house. As I was coming with this 
intention, I accidentally beheld this young gentleman, 
whose merit and behaviour make him worthy of the 
greatest princess, although his family be less noble. Him 
have I chosen, nor will I think of any other, however it 
may seem to my father or any one else. The principal 
inducement then to this journey is removed: but I chose 


54 THE DECAMERON 


to proceed, that I might visit the holy places with which 
this city abounds, and also your holiness, to the end that 
the contract. of marriage, made only in the presence of God, 
may be declared in yours, and so made public to the world: | 
wherefore I humbly entreat your blessing, to make us more 

capable of pleasing Him, whose vicar you are, that we may 
live together to the honour of God and of you, and at length 
die so.” Alessandro was greatly surprised, and overjoyed 
when he heard his wife was the King of England’s daughter; 
but the knights were enraged beyond measure, and, had it 
not been in the pope’s presence, they had certainly offered 
violence to Alessandro, and perhaps to the princess like- 
wise. On the other hand, the pope was in amaze, both at 
her dress and the choice she had made; but seeing what 
was done could not be remedied, he was willing to satisfy 
her request; and having comforted the two knights, whom 
he saw in confusion, and reconciled them to the lady and 
Alessandro, gave orders for what he would have done. And 
when the day appointed was come, he made the lady appear 
most royally dressed before all the cardinals, and other 
great personages, who had been invited to a most magnifi- 
cent feast, where she appeared so beautiful and courteous, 
that every one was charmed with her: in like manner was 
Alessandro richly apparelled ; in his aspect and behaviour 
being more like a prince than a person brought up to trade, 
and was much honoured by the two knights. The pope 
saw the marriage celebrated with all imaginable grandeur ; 
and, after receiving his benediction, they took their leave. 
Alessandro and his lady were desirous, when they left Rome, 
of seeing Florence, where fame had already carried the 
news of their marriage; and they were received with the 
utmost respect. She immediately took the three brothers 
out of prison, paying all their debts, and settled them and 
their wives in their former estates. This gained them the 
goodwill of every one; and departing thence, they took 
Agolante with them, and came to Paris, where the king 
received them in a most honourable manner. From thence 
the two knights went to England, where they prevailed so 
far with the king, that he forgave his daughter, and received 
them with all possible demonstrations of joy, making his — 


SECOND DAY 55 


son-in-law a knight, and creating him Earl of Cornwall. 
Alessandro’s behaviour and conduct were such, that he 
accommodated matters between father and son, which was 
of great service to the kingdom, and gained the love and 
esteem of every one. Agolante recovered all that was due 
to him, and returned to Florence immensely rich, being 
first knighted by Count Alessandro, who lived happily with 
_his princess; and it is reported that, through his prudence 
-and valour, and the assistance of his father-in-law, he made 
a conquest of Scotland, and was crowned king thereof. 


NOVEL IV 


 Landoltho Ruffolo, falling into poverty, became a pirate, and was taken 
by the Genoese, and suffered shipwreck ; but saved himself upon a 
cask of jewels, and was taken out of the sea by a woman at Corfu, 
and afterwards returned home very rich. 


LAURETTA sat next to Pampinea, and finding her tale now 
brought to a fair conclusion, began thus :-— 

Most kind ladies, there is no greater act of fortune, in 
my opinion, than to see one of low condition arrive at 
princely dignity, as Pampinea has just now showed us in 
the case of Alessandro. And though it be necessary that 
whoever discourses on the subject proposed, should keep 
within the very same terms, yet shall I not scruple to relate 
a story, which notwithstanding it contained greater hard- 
ships than the former, had not so glorious an end. I am 
sensible that, in this respect, I shall be the less regarded ; 
but, as I am able to give you no better, I hope you will 
excuse me. 

It is generally said, that the sea coast from Reggio to 
Gaeta is the pleasantest part of Italy ; that part of it near 
Salerno, which the inhabitants call the Coast of Malfi, is 
full of little towns, gardens, rivulets, as also rich people 
expert at merchandise; amongst the rest there is a town 
called Ravello, in which were many wealthy persons, and 
one especially, called Landolpho Ruffolo, who, not content 
with his great store, but willing to make it double, was near 


56 THE DECAMERON 


losing all he had, and himself also. This man, having 
settled his affairs, as other merchants are used to do, | 
bought a large ship, and freighting it all on his own 
account, set sail for the island of Cyprus. He there found 
many ships laden with the same commodities, in regard to 
which it was necessary for him not only to make a quick 
mart of his goods, but he was also farther constrained, if 
he meant to dispose of them at all, to sell them for a trifle, | 
to his great loss and almost ruin: grieving much thereat, 
nor knowing what to do, seeing that from great wealth he 
was reduced almost to poverty, he resolved either to die, 
or to repair his losses from other people, before he would 
return home poor, as he came from thence so rich. Meet- 
ing with a mterchant, who bought his great ship of him, 
with the money made of that and his other merchandise, 
he purchased a light little vessel fit for a pirate, arming 
and furnishing it with everything proper for that purpose, 
intending to make other people’s goods his own, and 
especially those of the Turks. And fortune was abundantly 
more favourable to him in this way of life, than she had 
been in merchandise; for, in the space of a year, he took 
so many Turkish prizes, that he found he had not only got 
his own again, but made it more than double. Being now 
comforted for his former loss, and thinking he had enough, 
and for fear of a second disaster, he resolved to make the 
best of his way home with what he had acquired: and as 
he was still fearful of trade, he had no mind to employ any 
more of his money that way, but set sail in the little vessel 
in which he had gained it. He was no sooner in the 
Archipelago, but night drew on, and a sirocco or great 
south-east wind arose, directly contrary to their intended 
course, which made such a sea, that the ship could not 
bear up against it, and they were glad to get into a bay 
under the cover of a little island, to wait for better weather. 
Landolpho had just entered the harbour when two Genoese 
ships came in from Constantinople to avoid. the same 
storm: and as soon as the men in them saw the small 
bark, they blocked her up in the passage, and understand- 
ing whom she belonged to, and that the owner was known 
to be rich; as men addicted to plunder and rapine, they 


s 


SECOND DAY 57 


resolved to make it their own prize; landing some of their — 
men, therefore, well armed with crossbows and other 
weapons, they possessed themselves of a station, to prevent 
any of the crew’s issuing out of the bark, unless they ran the 
hazard of their lives, whilst the rest got into the long boat, and 
the sea being favourable, they soon boarded Landolpho’s 
vessel, and took all his people, and everything in it, with- 
out the loss of a man, leaving him nothing but a waistcoat ; 
and after they had cleared the vessel, they sunk her. The 
day following, the wind being changed, they set sail, and 
had a good voyage all that day; but night coming on, the 
wind became boisterous again, and the storm was such 
that the two ships were parted, whilst that wherein poor 
Landolpho was, drove with the utmost violence upon the 
coast of Cephalonia, and broke all to pieces. The poor 
wretches that were on board. (the sea being covered with 
_all sorts of merchandise, and ‘with chests, tables, &c., as is 
common. injsuch cases), notwithstanding it was dark, and 
the waves very great, endeavoured, such as were able to 
swim, to lay hold of such things as they saw floating. 
Amongst these was the unfortunate Landolpho, who, though 
he had wished for death a thousand times the day. before, - 
rather than to be. carried home a beggar; now he saw 
death at hand, was sufficiently terrified, and got hold of a 
plank, like the rest, in hopes that, by delaying his fate, God 
would; send him some means for his escape: and riding 
upon jt, as. well, as he could, being driven by the wind 
backwards,and forwards, he supported himself till it was 
daylight, and then looking round him he could see nothing 
but clouds and water, and a chest driving towards him, 
which came so near him sometimes, that he was afraid it 
would dash against him; when he-:would endeavour, with 
the little strength he had left, to put it by with his hand; 
at length it-happened that a great blast of wind, sent it 
with such violence against the board. whereon he was 
sitting, that it was overset, and he-soused over head and 
‘ears in the water; but rising again, and swimming more 
out of fear than any strength, he found himself at such a 
distance, that he was afraid he could not recover it ; getting 
therefore to the chest, which was nearer, he laid;his breast 


58 THE DECAMERON 


upon it as well as be could, and put his arms round it, and 
in this manner was he carried up and down, eating nothing, 
because he had it not, and drinking more than he desired, 
without knowing where he was, or seeing anything but 
water for a day and a night. The next morning (whether 
it was through God, or the force of the winds) Landolpho, 
who was well nigh become a sponge, holding his arms 
strongly about the chest, as we often see people seize upon 
anything to avoid being drowned, drew near to the island 
of Corfu, where, by good fortune, a poor woman was 
scouring her dishes with salt water and sand, who, when 
she saw him approach, and not perceiving him to be of 
any shape or figure, cried out and retreated: as’ he was 
unable to speak, neither could he see much; ‘but, as the 
waves pleased, he was carried to the land, and then she 
could distinguish the shape of the chest ; and looking more 
narrowly, she saw an arm laid over it, and then a face, 
when she supposed how the case was; and being moved 
by compassion, stepped a little way into the sea, which was 
now calm, and taking hold of the hair of his head, drew 
both him and the chest to land, and with much trouble 
unfolded his arms from the chest, which she set upon her 
daughter’s head who was with her; and she carried him 
like a little child to the town, and put him into a stove, 
and chafed and washed him with warm water, by which 
means the vital warmth began to return, and he got some 
strength. In due time she took him out of the stove, and 
comforted him with wine and good cordials, and kept him 
some days till he knew where he was; she then restored 
him his chest, and told him he might now provide for his 
departure. He, who remembered nothing about it, ‘re- 
ceived it from the hands of the woman, as supposing it 
might serve for his expenses a small time, how little soever 
it was worth; and finding it very light, was something dis- 
heartened ; however, as she was out of the way, he broke it 
open,.and found a great quantity of jewels, both such as 
were set, and others, of which he had some judgment, and 
knowing their value, he was now thoroughly comforted, 
praising God for not having yet forsaken him; but as he 
had been twice buffeted by fortune already, and being 


SECOND DAY 59 


fearful of a third mishap, he judged that great caution was 
requisite to bring these things safe home; he wrapped 
them up, therefore, in old rags, as well as he could, and 
told the woman that he had no further use for the chest, 
but that she might keep it if she would give him a sack in 
its stead, which she was very glad to do: and now return- 
ing her a thousand thanks, he departed with his sack upon 
his neck, and passed over in a bark to Brandizio, and s 
from one sea to another, till he came to Trani, where he 
met with merchants of his own town, who clothed him out 
of charity, after he had told them all that had happened to 
him, excepting that of the chest of jewels; they also gave 
him a horse, and sent company with him to Ravello, whither 
he said he was resolved to return ; and finding himself there 
in safety, he thanked God for it: and now he inquired more 
narrowly into his sack than he had done before, and found so 
many valuable jewels, that, rating them at the lowest prices, 
_ he was twice as rich as when he left home. Finding means 
therefore to dispose of them, he sent a sum of money to 
the woman at Corfu, who had taken him out of the sea, 
and treated him so kindly; and also to the merchants at 
Trani for clothing him; and he lived handsomely upon the 
remainder (without having any more mind to trade) the 
rest of his life. 


NOVEL V 


Andreuccio, of Perugia, coming to Naples to buy horses, met with three 
remarkable accidents in one night ; from all which he escapes, and 
returns with a ruby of value. 


THE jewels found by Landolpho put me in mind, said 
Flammetta, whose turn it was now to speak, of a story 
which contains as many perils as the last, although it be 
different in this respect ; viz., that the first happened in the 
course of some years, whereas these fell out in the space of 
one night, as you shall hear. There lived, as I have 
heard, at Perugia, a young man named Andreuccio di 
Pietro, a dealer in horses, who, hearing of a good market 
at Naples, put five hundred florins of gold into his purse; 


[ 


60 THE DECAMERON 


and, having never been from home before, went with some 
other dealers, and arrived thither on a Sunday in the 
evening: and, according to the instruction he had received 


from his landlord, he went into the market next morning, © 


where he saw many horses to his mind; cheapening their 
price as he went up and down, without coming to any 
bargain. But to show people that he came with an 
intent to buy, he unadvisedly pulled out his purse on all 
‘occasions ; insomucn, that a certain Sicilian damsel (who 
was at every one’s service for a small matter) got a sight of 
it, as she was passing along, without being observed by 
him: and she said to herself, ‘‘ Who is there that would be 
my betters, if that purse were mine?” and passed on. 
Along with her was an old woman, of Sicily likewise, who, 
as soon as she saw Andreuccio, ran to embrace him ; 
which the young woman observing, without saying a word, 
stepped aside to wait for her. He immediately knew her, 
to her great joy, and without much: discourse there, she 
having promised to come to his inn, he went on about his 
business, but bought nothing all that morning, The young 
woman taking notice first of the purse, and then of the old 
_ woman’s knowledge of him, and contriving how to come at 
all or part of the money, began to inquire of her, as cau- 
tiously as might be, if she knew who that man was, or 
whence he came, or what was his business, and also how 
she happened to know him: which she answered in every 
particular as fully as he himself could have done, having 
lived a long time with his father in Sicily, and afterwards 
at Perugia; telling her also the cause of his coming thither, 
and when he was to return. Thinking herself now suffi- 


ciently instructed, both concerning his kindred, and their — 


names, she grounded her scheme upon it in the most artful 
manner possible; and going home, she sent the old woman 
out upon business for the whole day, to hinder her return- 
ing to him; and in the meantime, toward the evening, she 
dispatched a young woman, well-trained for such services, 
to his lodgings, who found him, by chance, sitting alone at 
the door, and inquiring of him whether he knew such a 
‘ person, he made answer, that he was the: man; upon 
which she took him a little aside, and said, “Sir, a gentle 


SECOND DAY . 6x ° 


woman of this city would gladly speak with you, if you 
please.” On hearing this, he began to consider the matter , 
and, as she seemed to be a creditable girl, he held it for 
granted that the lady must be in love with him; thinking 
himself as handsome a man as any in Naples: he answered, 
therefore, that he was ready, and demanded where and 
when the lady would speak with him. The girl replied, 
“ She expects you at her own house as soon as it is agree- 
able to you.’ 

Without saying a ier: then to the people of the inn, he 
bade her show him the way; and she brought him to her 
house, in a certain street famous for such sort of guests: 
but he, knowing nothing of the matter, nor at all suspect- 
ing, but that he was visiting a place of repute, and a lady 
that had taken a fancy to him, went into the house, and 
going upstairs (whilst the girl called aloud to her mistress, 
telling her that Andreuccie-was there), found her at the top 
waiting for him. She-was_young and beautiful enough, 

-and very well dressed. Seeing him appear, therefore, she 
ran down two or three steps with open arms to meet him ; 
-and taking him about the neck, ‘she stood some time with- 
out speaking a word, as if prevented by her over-great 
tenderness; at last, shedding abundance of tears, and 
kissing him over and over, she said (her words being 
interrupted as it were with transport), “‘O my Andreuccio ! 
you are heartily welcome.” He (quite astonished at being 
caressed in such a manner) teplied, “Madam, I am proud 
of the, honour to wait upon you.” She then took him 
by the ‘hand, and led him, without saying a word more, 
through a large dining-room into her own chamber, which 
was perfumed with roses, orange-flowers, and other costly 
odours, where was also a fine bed, and other rich furniture, 
far beyond what he had ever seen before, which convinced 
him that she was some great lady: and sitting down 
together upon a couch at the bed’s foot she addressed 
herself to him in this manner: ‘“ Andreuccio, I am very sure 
you must be under great astonishment both at my tears 
and embraces, as being unacquainted with me, and perhaps 
never having heard of me before: but you will now hear 
what will surprise you more, namely, that I am your sister : 


62 THE DECAMERON 


and I assure you, that since God has indulged me with the 
sight of one of my brethren, as I wished to have seen them 
all, I could die contented this very moment: if you be 
unacquainted with the particulars of my story, I will relate 
them. Pietro, my father and yours, as I suppose you must 
know, lived a long time at Palermo, where he was much 
respected for his behaviour and good-nature (and may be 
so still) by all that knew him. Amongst others that liked 
him on that account was my mother, a widow lady; who, 
notwithstanding the regard due to her father and brothers, 
as well as to her own honour, cohabited with him, till at 
length I was born, and am now what you see. : Having 
occasion afterwards to retire from Palermo, and ‘to return 
to Perugia, he left me there an infant, with my mother, 
and from that time, as far as I can learn, took no more 
notice either of me or her; which, were he not my father, 
I could blame him for; considering what ingratitude he 
showed to my mother, to omit the love he owed to me his 
child, begotten of no vile prostitute, who, out of her 
abundant love, had put herself and all her wealth into his 
hands, without having any farther knowledge of him. But 
to what purpose? Ill actions, done so long since, are 
easier blamed than amended: yet so it was; he left me;, 
as I said, at Palermo, an infant, where, when I grew up,’ 
my mother, who was rich, married me to one of the family 
of the Gergenti; who, out of regard to me and her, came 
and lived at Palermo, where, falling into the faction of the 
Guelphs, and having begun to treat with our King Charles, 
he was discovered by Frederick, King of Arragon, before 
his scheme could take effect, and forced to fly from Sicily, 
at a time when I expected to have been the greatest lady in 
the island. Taking away what few effects we were able 
' (I call them few, with regard to the abundance we were 
possessed of), and leaving our estates and palaces behind 
us, we came at length to this place, where we found King 
Charles so grateful, that he has made up to us, in part, the 
losses we had sustained on his account, giving us lands 
and houses, and paying my husband, and your kinsman, a 
pension besides, as you will hereafter see: thus live I 
here, where, thanks be to Heaven, and not to you, my 


SECOND DAY 63 


dearest brother, I now see you.” Which when she had 
said, she wept and embraced him again. 

Andreuccio hearing this fable so orderly, so artfully 
composed, and related without the least faltering or hesita- 
tion; remembering, also, that his father had lived at 
Palermo, and knowing, by his own experience, how prone 
young fellows are to love; beholding too her tears and 
affectionate caresses, he took all she had said for granted ; 
and when she had done speaking, he made answer and 
said, ‘‘Madam, it should not seem strange to you that 
I am surprised: for, in truth (whether it was that my 
father, for reasons best known to himself, never mentioned 
you nor your mother at any time; or, if he did, that I have 
forgot it), I have no more knowledge of you, than if you 
had never been born. .And it is the more pleasing to me 
to find a sister here, as I the less expected it, and am also 
alone: nor is there any man, of what quality soever who 
would not value you; much more, therefore, shall I, who 
am but a mean trader. But one thing I beg you would 
clear up to me, viz.. How came you to know that I was 
here?” When she replied in this manner: 

**A poor. woman, whom I often employ, told me so; 
for she. lived, as she informed me, with our father a 
considerable time, both at Palermo and Perugia; and were 
it not that it appeared more reputable that you should 
come to me at my house, than I go to you at another 
‘person’s, I had. come directly to you.” She then inquired 
of him particularly, and by name, how all their relations 
did? To all which he answered her fully ; believing more 
firmly, when there was the more reason for suspicion. 
Their discourse lasting a long time, and the season being 
sultry, she ordered, in Greek, wine and sweetmeats for 
aim ; and he making an offer afterwards to depart, because 
t was supper-time, she would by no means suffer it; but 
seeming to be under great concern, she embraced him, and 
said, ‘Alas! now I plainly see how little account you 
make. of me; that, being with a sister whom you never 
iaw before, and in her house, which you should always 
nake your home,.you should yet think of going to sup 
‘itan inn. Indeed you shall sup with me ; and though my 


| 
| i 


64 THE DECAMERON 


husband be abroad, which I am much concerned.at, | 
know, as a woman, how to pay you some little respect.” 
He, not knowing what answer to make, said, “I love you 
as much as it is possible for me to love a sister; but it 
will be wrong not to go, because they will expect me 
to supper all the evening.” She immediately . replied, 
“We have a present remedy for that, I will send one 
of my people to tell them not to expect you: but you 
would favour me more, and do as you ought, if you would 
send to invite your company hither to supper, and after- 
wards, if you chose to go, you might all of you depart 
together.” He said, he should not trouble her: that 
evening with his companions, but she might dispose: of 
him as she pleased. She now made a pretence of sending 
to his inn, to tell them not to expect him to supper; and 
after much other discourse, they sat down, and were 
elegantly served with a variety of dishes, which she .con- 
trived to last till it was dark night, and rising then from 
table, he offered to go away; but she declared, that she 
would by no means suffer it, for Naples was not a place to 
walk in when it was dark, especially for a stranger: and as 
she had sent to the inn concerning his supping with her, 
so had she done the like about his bed. He believing this 
to be true, and glad also: of being with her, was easily 
prevailed upon. After supper, their discourse lasted a long 
time, being lengthened out on purpose; and as it was now 
midnight, she left him in her own chamber to take his 
repose, with a boy to wait upon him; and:she, with her 
companions, retired into another room. It was sultry hot, 
on which account Andreuccio, seeing himself alone, stripped 
into his doublet, and pulling off his breeches, he laid them 
under his bolster, and having occasion to retire, he asked 
the boy to show him a conveniency ; who pointed to a 
comer of the room where there was a door and desired 
him to enter it. He went in without the least suspicion, 
and setting his foot upon a board, which not being nailed 
at the other end to the rafter on which it was Jaid, ere | 
flew up, and down they went together. 

Heaven was so merciful to him, ies he got no 
harm, though it was a great height, but was grievously 


4 


SECOND DAY 63 


daubed with the filth, of which the place was full. Now, 
that you may better understand this, and what followed 
also, I shall describe the place to you. Ina straight alley 
(as you see often between two houses), on some tracings 
reaching from one to the other, were some boards laid, 
and a place to sit upon, and it was one of these boards 
that fell down with him. Finding himself now at the 
bottom, he called in great distress to the boy; but he, the 
moment he heard him fall, ran to tell his mistress, who 
hastened to his chamber, to see if his clothes were there, 
and finding both them and the money, which he, out of a 
foolish mistrust, always carried about him (and for the 
sake of which she had laid this snare, pretending to have 
been of Palermo, and the sister of this Perugian), she took 
no further care, but made the door fast, out of which he 
passed, when he fell. Finding the boy made no answer, 
he called out louder, but to no purpose ; and now perceiv- 
ing the trick, when it was too late, he climbed up the wall 
which parted that place from the street, and getting down 
from thence, he came again to the door, which he knew 
full well; there did he knock and call in vain for a long 
time ; lamenting much, and seeing plainly his. calamity ; 
‘Alas! (quoth he) in how little a time have I lost five 
hundred florins, and a sister besides !” 

And using many other words, he now began to batter 
the door, and to call out aloud ; and he continued doing so 
till he roused many of the neighbours, and, among the 

rest, one of the women where he had _ been,, pretending 
to be half asleep, opened the casement, and called out, 
“Who makes that noise there?” 

“Oh!” cried he, “don’t you know me, Iam Andreuccio, 
brother to Madam Fiordaliso ;” when she replied, ‘ Prithee, 
honest fellow, if thou hast had too much liquor, get thee to 
bed, and come to-morrow. I know nothing of Andreuccio, 
‘nor what thy idle tale means; but go about thy business 
(I say once again) and let us rest.”—-“* What! (said he), 
don’t you know what I say ?,. You know well enough, if 
you will: but if our Sicilian relationship) be so soon 
forgotten, give me my. clothes which I left with, you, and 
‘Tl go with all my heart.” She then replied, with a sneer, 

Cc 


66 THE DECAMERON 


“The man is in a dream;” and shut the window at the 
same time. 

Andreuccio, convinced of his loss, through his great 
grief became outrageous ; and, resolving to recover by force 
what he could not by fair words, took a great stone, and 
beat against the door harder than ever; which many of the 
neighbours hearing who had been awaked before, and sup- 
posing that he was some spiteful fellow, that did this to 
annoy the woman, and provoked at the noise which he made ; 
they called out, one and all (in like manner as dogs all 
join in barking at a stranger), “It is a’shameful thing to 
come to a woman’s house at this time of night, with thy 
idle stories: get thee away, in God’s name, and let us 
sleep; and if thou hast any business with her, come 
to-morrow, and do not disturb us now.” Encouraged, 
perhaps, by these last words, a bully in the house, whom 
he had neither seen nor heard of, came to the window, 
and with a most rough and terrible voice called out, ‘‘Who 
is that below?” Andreuccio, raising up his head at this, 
beheld an ill-looking rascal with a great black beard, 
yawning and rubbing his eyes, as if he was just risen from 
bed, and awaked out of his sleep. He made answer, there- 
fore, not without a good deal of fear, ‘I am brother to 
the lady within:” but the other (never waiting to let him 
make an end of his speech) replied, ‘I’ll come down and 
beat thee, until thou canst not stand, for a troublesome 
drunken beast as thou art, disturbing everybody’s rest in 
this manner ;” and he clapt to the window. 

Hereupon some of the neighbours, who knew more of 
the fellow’s disposition and character, called qut softly to 
Andreuccio, and said, ‘* For Heaven’s sake, honest man, 
go away, unless thou hast a mind to lose thy life ; it will 
be much the best for thee.” Terrified therefore with his 
voice and aspect, and persuaded also by these people, 
who seemed to speak out of mere good will, Andreuccio, 
quite cast down, and out of all hopes of receiving his 
money, now directed his course towards that part of the 

city, from whence he had been led by the girl the day 
before (without knowing whither he was going) in’ order 
to get to his inn. But. being offensive to himself, on 


SECOND DAY 67 


account of the scent he carried about him, and desirous of 
washing in the sea, he turned to. the left, through a street 
called Catalana, and went towards the highest part of the 
city, where he saw two people coming with a lantern, and 
(fearing that they were the watch, or some ill-disposed 
persons) stepped into an old house that was near, to hide 
himself. / It happened that these people were going into 
the veyy same place; and one of them having laid down 
some iron tools there, which he carried upon his neck, they \ 
had some discourse together about them. And as they 
were talking, said one to the other, ‘‘ There is the most 
confounded stink (whatever be the meaning of it) that ever 
I smelt in my life.” When, holding up the lantern, they 
saw wretched Andreuccio, and, in a good deal of amaze, 
demanded who he was? He made no answer; and draw- 
ing nearer with the light they asked what he did there in 
that condition? He then related to them his whole adven- 
ture; and they, easily imagining the place where the thing 
had happened, said te one another, “This must certainly 
have been in the house of Scarabon Firebrand ;” and then, 
turning towards him, proceeded thus: ‘‘ Honest man, you 
ought to be very thankful that you fell down, and could 
not return into the house, for otherwise you would certainly 
have been murdered as soon as ever you went to sleep, 
and so have lost your life as well as your money. But 
what signifies lamenting? You may as soon pluck a star out 
of the firmament, as recover one farthing ; nay, you may 
chance to be killed, should the man hear that you make 
any words about it.” 

Having admonished him in this manner, they said, 
“See, we have pity on you, and if you will engage in a | 
certain affair with us, which we are now about, we are very 
sure that your share will amount to more than you have‘ 
lost.” He, like a person in, despair, told them he was 
willing.—VYhat day was buried the Archbishop of Naples, { 
whose name was Signor Phillippo Minutolo, in rich ponti- 
fical robes, and with a ruby on his finger worth upwards | 
of five hundred florins of gold, whom they proposed to 
strip and rifle; and they acquainted him with their inten- 
‘tion. He then, more covetous than wise, went along with 


Pim 


68 THE DECAMERON 


them; and, as they were going towards the cathedral, he 
smelt so strong, that one said to the other, ‘Can we con 
trive no way to wash this man a little, to make him sweeter ?” 
And the other made answer, “We are not far from a well, 
where there are usually a pulley and’ a great bucket; let 
us go thither, and we may make him clean in an instant.” 
Coming there, they found the rope, but the bucket was 
taken away; they therefore agreed to tie him to the: rope, 
and to put him down into the well, and- when he had well 
washed himself, he was to’ shake the rope, and they would 
draw him up. Now it happened that, after they had let 
him down, some of the watch, being thirsty with the 
heat of the weather, and having been in pursuit of some 
persons, came to that well to drink, and as soon as 
the two men saw them, they took to their heels; the 
watch, however, saw nothing of them. Andreuccio now 
having washed himself at the bottom of the well, began 
to shake the rope; they therefore laid down their: clothes 
and halberds upon the ground, and began to draw the 
rope, thinking the bucket was fastened thereto, and full of 
water: and when he found himself at the top, he let go the 
rope, and clung fast to the edge of the well. They imme- 
diately threw down the’ rope’ on seeing him, and ran 
away, frighted out of their wits; which greatly surprise 

him; and had he not’ held fast, he had fallen to the 
bottom, and perhaps lost: his life. Getting out in this 
manner, and beholding their’ weapons, which he knew 
belonged not to his companions, he wondered the more; 
and being in doubt what the meaning of it could be, 
he went away without touching anything, lamenting ‘his 
fate, and not knowing whither. As he was’ »walking 
along, he met with his companions,'' who returned to 
help him out of the well; and were’ surprised ‘to see 
him, inquiring of him) who had helped him out. He 
replied, that he could not tell them; and related the 
whole affair, and what he had found by the well-side: 
upon which they perceived how it happened, and laugh- 
ing heartily, they acquainted him with the reason of 
their running away, and who they were’ that had drawn 
him up. Without making more words, it being now 


SECOND: DAY 69 


midnight, they went to the great church, into which they 
found an easy admittance, and. passed directly to the 
tomb, which was of marble, and very magnificent; and 
with their levers raised up the cover, which was very 
heavy, so high that a man might go under, and propped 
it; which being done, said one, “Who shall go in?”— 
“ Not I,” cried the other, “but Andreuccio shall.”—*] 


' will not go in,” quoth Andreuccio; then they both turned 


towards him, and said, ‘What! won’t. you go in? We 
will beat. your brains out this. moment, if you don’t.” 
Terrified at their threats, he consented, and being now 
within, he began to consider with himself in this manner: 
“These fellows have certainly forced me in here to 
deceive me, and therefore, when I. have given them 
everything, and am endeavouring to get out again, they 
will certainly run away, and I shall be left destitute.” 
For which reason. he resolved to make sure of his part, 


_ beforehand; and remembering the ring of value which 


he had heard them speak of, as soon as ever he got 


/ into the vault, he took it off the archbishop’s finger, 


and secured it, giving them afterwards the pastoral staff, 
mitre, and gloves, and stripping him to his shirt, he told 
them there was nothing else. But they affirming that 
there was a ring, bid him seek everywhere for it, whilst 
he assured them that he could nowhere find it, and, 


| pretending to look carefully about, he kept them some 


time waiting for him: at length they, who were fully as 


/ cunning as himself, calling to him to search diligently, 


suddenly drew away the prop which supported the cover, 


and left him shut up in the vault. Which, when he 


a oe 





| perceived, you may easily suppose what condition he 


was in. Many a time did he endeavour with his head 


‘ and shoulders to raise it up, but in vain; till, overcome 
‘ with grief, he fell down at last upon the dead body; 
‘ and whoever had seen him at that time, could scarcely 
: have said, whether there was more life in one than the 
/ other. But when he came to himself he lamented most 
| bitterly, seeing that he was now brought to the necessity 


of one of these two evils, namely to die there with 


» hunger, and the stench of the dead carcase, if no one 


70 THE DECAMERON 


came to help him out: or, if that should happen, and 
he be delivered, in that case to be hanged for a thief. 
As he was in this perplexity, he heard the noise of many 
persons in the church, whom he supposed were come 
to do what he and his companions had been about, 
which added greatly to his fear: but after they had 
raised up the lid and propped it, a dispute arose which 
should go in; and none caring to do it, after a long 
contest, said a priest, “What are you afraid of? Do 
you think he will eat you? Dead men cannot bite; I 
will go in myself.” And immediately clapping his breast 
to the edge of the vault, he attempted to slide down 
with his feet foremost; which Andreuccio perceiving, 
and standing up he caught fast hold of one. of his legs, 
as if he meant to pull him in. The priest upon this 
making a most terrible outcry, got out immediately; and 
the rest being equally terrified, ran away, leaving the vault 
open, as if they had been pursued by a hundred thousand 
devils. Andreuccio, little expecting this good fortune, 
got out of the vault, and so out of the church, the same 
way he came in. And now daylight began to appear, 
he wandered with the ring cn his finger he knew not 
whither, till, coming to the seaside, he found the way 
leading to his inn: there he met with his companions 
and his landlord, who had been in pain all that night 
for him; and having related to them all that had passed, 
he was advised to get out of Naples with all speed; 
with which he instantly complied, and returned to Perugia, 
having laid out his money on a ring, whereas the intent of 
his journey was to have bought horses. 


SECOND DAY ee 


NOVEL VI 


Madam Beritola was found on an island with two goats, having lost 
her two sons, and went from thence to Lunigiana, where one of her 
sons became servant to the lord thereof; and being found with his 
daughter, was by him sent to prison; afterwards, when the country 
of Sicily rebelled against King Charles, that same son was known 
again by his mother, and was married to his master’s daughter ; 
and his brother being found likewise, they both returned to great 
estate and credit, 


THE ladies and gentlemen were much diverted with the 
adventures that befel Andreuccio, as related by Flammetta ; 
when Emilia, perceiving the story to be at an end, began, 
by the queen’s order, in this manner: 

Very great and grievous are the changes of fortune, 
which, as often as we discourse of, so often do they rouse 
and awaken our understandings, which are but too easily 
enchanted by her flatteries; and I am persuaded, that to 
hear them recounted must be agreeable both to such as are 
happy, and such as are miserable;.inasmuch as it is a 
caution to the former, and affords matter of comfort to the 
latter. Wherefore, though great things have been already 
treated of, yet I do purpose to relate a story no less true 
than lamentable: which, though it ended well, yet such 
and so many were the bitter thwartings, that one would 
scarcely imagine they could ever be sweetened by any sub- 
sequent joy. 

You must understand, then, that after the death of the 
Emperor Frederick II. Manfredi was crowned king of 
Sicily; with whom lived, in great favour, a Neapolitan 
gentleman, whose name was Arrighetto Capece, and who 
had, for his wife, a most beautiful and worthy lady of 
Naples, called Beritola Caracciola. This gentleman having 
the government of the island in his hands, and understand- 
ing that King Charles I. had gained the battle of Benevento, 
and slain Manfredi, finding also that the whole kingdom 
had revolted to the conqueror, and reposing but little trust 
in the scanty faith of the Sicilians, nor being willing to 
‘become a subject to the enemy of his former master, he pre- 


> 


72 THE DECAMERON 


' pared secretly to leave the place ; which being discovered by 


the inhabitants, he and many other of Manfredi’s friends 
and. servants were delivered up prisoners to King Charles, 
who took possession also of the island. In such a sudden 
change of affairs, Madam Beritola, not knowing what was 
become of her husband, and fearful of what was already 
come to pass, to avoid reproach, left everything behind 
her, and taking only a child of eight years old, called 
Goffredi, and being with child of another, she embarked, 
in the utmost distress, in a little vessel, for Lipari: there 
she brought forth another son, whom she called Scacciato, 
or the Expelled, and having provided a nurse, they went’on 
board again with a design to return to her relations at 
Naples. But it happened contrary to her expectation: for 
the vessel, which was bound for Naples, was carried by a 
contrary wind to the island of Ponzo; where, getting into a 
little harbour, they waited for a more favourable season to 
pursue their voyage: there they went on shore, and finding 
a solitary place, she sat down all alone, to lament the fate 
of her dear Arrighetto, and this she did every day; whilst 
it happened, that: being employed in this meditation one 
day, without any of the ship’s crew knowing where she was, 
they were surprised by a pirate ship, and carried off. 
Madam Beritola, when her daily lamentation was ended, 
returned, as usual, to see her sons, and was surprised to 
find nobody; but suspecting what must have’ happened, 
and casting her eye towards the sea, she saw the ship at no 
great distance, dragging her little vessel after it; on which 
she plainly perceived that she had lost her children, as 
well as her husband; and seeing herself there poor and 
abandoned, nor expecting ever to meet with any of them 
again, she fell down in a swoon upon the shore, calling 
upon her husband and her children. There was no one 
near, either with cold water or any other means, to bring 
her to herself; so that her spirits might the more freely 
wander at their pleasure; but when she was a little re- 
covered, then did her tears and lamentations break out 
afresh, whilst she called out for her children, and ran to 
every cavern to find them; till, perceiving at last it was all 
to no purpose, and dark night drawing on, yet hoping still, 


SECOND DAY 73° 


without knowing why, she began then to take some care of 
herself, and, leaving the sea-shore, returned to the cave 
where she was used to make her lamentation: she passed 
that night not without infinite pain and grief; and day- 
light appearing, she, who had eaten nothing the evening 
before, being now pinched with hunger, fed upon the green 
herbs as well as she could ; sadly reflecting on what would 
become of her the rest of her life: whilst she was full of 
these melancholy reflections, she beheld a goat enter a 
cave near her, and, after some little stay, come out 
again. and. go into the woods: upon which she arose, and 
went in where she saw the beast issue forth, and found 
two young kids, yeaned perhaps that very day, which she 
thought at that time the prettiest things in the world ; and 
having milk yet in her breasts from her late delivery, she 
took them carefully, and applied them to her bosom, and 
they sucked as naturally as if she had been their mother, 
and from that time made no distinction between one and 
the other: and thus the lady thinking that she had now 
met with company in this solitary place, feeding also on 
herbs, and drinking of water, and lamenting: her husband 
and children as often as she reflected on her) past life, be- 
came at length disposed to live and die there, growing as 
familiar with the goat as with her offspring. By this way 
of life becoming almost wild, it happened, in some months, 
that a vessel from Pisa arrived there by chance, and con- 
tinued many days, on board of which was a gentleman 
called Conrado de’ Malespini, with his most virtuous lady, 
who had been upon a pilgrimage to visit all the holy places 
in Puglia, and were now returning home; when, to divert 
themselves, they went on shore with their servants and 
some dogs, and being not far from the place where Madam 
Beritola was, the dogs met with the two kids, who being 
now large ones, were feeding abroad, and, as they were 
closely pursued, fled for refuge to her in the cave: she 
arose on seeing this, and getting a stick, beat the dogs 
away; in the meanwhile Conrado and his lady, who were 
following the dogs, came upon her, and beholding her all 
swarthy, meagre, and hairy, were greatly surprised, and she 
much more, at their appearance... When, by her entreaties, 
C2 


714 THE DECAMERON 


he had drawn his hounds back, they desired she would 
acquaint them who she was, and what she did there: 
whereupon she related to them all that had happened to 
her, and her resolution to stay ; which, when Conrado had 
understood, who knew her husband very well, he was 
moved with pity, and endeavoured, by many arguments, to 
draw her from her cruel design, making an offer either to 
send her home, or to keep her at his own house in the 
same rank as if she was his sister, where she might wait for 
better times. When she would not comply with these kind 
proposals, he left his wife with her, desiring that she would 
order victuals to be brought, and let her put on some of. 
her clothes, because her own were all ragged, and endeavour, 
by every possible means, to bring her away. The lady 
continued with her, and lamented her misfortunes, until 
the victuals and clothes were brought, when she prevailed 
upon her to clothe herself, and to eat; and after much 
entreaty, she, declaring that she would never go any more 
where she was known, persuaded her to depart with them 
for Lunigiana, together with the two kids and goat, which 
were now come back, showing all tokens of joy to her, to 
the great wonder of the lady. 

As soon as the weather was favourable, Madam Beritola 
went on board with Conrado and his lady, being followed 
by the goat and kids; and, because she wished to be 
known by nobody else, she would be called by no other 
name than that of the Goatherdess. The wind was favour- 
able, and soon brought them into the river Magra, where 
they got on shore, and went to their castle ; there she lived 
with Conrado’s lady in a widow’s dress, like a waiting- 
woman, behaving herself with all obedience and humility, 
still loving and nursing her goats.—Let us now return to 
the pirates, who had seized upon the little bark at Ponzo, 
which brought Beritola thither, and leaving her there, as 
having not been seen by them, they carried the rest of the 
people away to Genoa, where, when the booty came to be 
divided among the owners of the ship, it happened that, 
amongst other things, the nurse and two children fell to 
the share of one Guasparrino d’Oria, who sent them to his 
own house, to be kept as servants. The nurse was ex 


SECOND DAY 75 


ceedingly sorrowful at the loss of her mistress, and the low 
state of life to which she saw herself and the children now 
reduced, and wept for a considerable time; but when she 
saw that tears were of no effect, and that they were slaves 
together, poor as she was, yet was she wise and prudent, 
and having comforted herself in the best manner she was 
able, and considering their condition, she believed that if 
they were known it might turn to their disadvantage ; and 
hoping besides that their affairs might take a new turn, and 
they regain their former condition ; for this reason she de- 
termined to discover their names to nobody, unless she saw 
a proper time for it: and she told every one who inquired 
about them, that they were her sons, and the eldest she 
called not Goffredi, but Jeannot di Procida; as for the 
younger, she did not regard changing his name; and she 
told Goffredi, frequently, the reason why she had done so, 
and to what dangers he would be exposed should he be 
known, which the child, who was sensible enough, carefully 
observed. 

They continued in the house of Guasparrino many 
years, poorly clad, and worse shod, employed in the most 
servile offices, which they bore with great patience: but 
Jeannot, being now in his sixteenth year, and having a 
spirit much beyond the condition of a servant, despising 
the meanness of his station, he left Guasparrino, and 
went on board the ships which were bound for Alexandria ; 
and travelling afterwards into divers parts, could in no 
way advance himself. In the end, about three or four 
years after his departure from Guasparrino, being grown 
tall and comely in his person, and having understood that 
his father, whom he thought to have been dead, was yet 
alive, but kept in prison by King Charles; despairing now 
altogether of his fortune, he wandered up and down as a 
vagabond, till he came to Lunigiana, where by chance he 
became servant to Conrado de’ Malespini, and was much 
liked as such. He seldom saw his mother, she being 
commonly with Conrado’s wife, nor did he know her any 
more than she recognised him; so much had time altered 
both since they last saw one another. Living thus in the 
service of Conrado, it happened that a daughter of his, 


76 THE DECAMERON 


whose name was Spina, being the widow of one Nicholas 
de Grignano, returned home to her father’s; and being a 
very agreeable young lady, and only sixteen years of age, 
soon cast her eyes on Jeannot, and he on ‘her, in such a 
manner, that they became enamoured of each other ; which 
love of theirs was not long without taking effect, and was 
carried on many months before it was discovered. For 
which reason, growing too secure, they were now not so 
cautious as they ought to have been in such an affair; and, 
as they were walking one day into a pleasant grove, well 
planted with trees, leaving the rest of their company behind, 
they passed on before; and supposing that the others 
were far enough off, they made choice of a fine bed of 
flowers for their amorous amusement.  Dallying there too 
long, though the time seemed short to them, they were 
surprised first by the mother, and afterwards by Conrado 
himself ; who, being grieved beyond measure ordered three 
of his servants to seize, and carry them bound to a certain 
castle of his ; resolving out of his extreme rage and passion, 
to put them both to a shameful death. The mother, 
though she was much troubled, and thought her daughter 
worthy of punishment for the crime she had committed, 
yet, perceiving what her husband’s intention was, she could 
not bear that he should proceed to such extremities, and 
begged that he would not, in his old age, be so far hurried 
away with passion, as to murder his own daughter, and to 
stain his hands with the blood of a servant; but rather 
show his resentment, in a different manner, ‘namely, by 
committing them to close imprisonment, there to pine and 
lament the folly they had committed. By these and other 
persuasions the good lady prevented his putting them to 
death ; and he now gave orders to have them sent to 
separate prisons, where they should be well watched, and 
kept with little food and great severity, till he should farther 
resolve what to do with them. What their life now was in 
captivity and continual tears, with more fasting than was 
needful for them, any one may easily 1 imagine. 

Jeannot and La Spina remaining in this comfortless con- 
dition, and a whole year being spent’ without Conrado 
taking any further notice of them, it happened that Peter. 


SECOND DAY 79 


King of Arragon, by means of John di Procida, caused the 
island of Sicily to revolt, and gained it from King Charles; 
on which account Conrado, who was of the Ghibeline 
faction, made great rejoicings, which Jeannot being in- 
formed of by some of his keepers, fetched a deep sigh, and 
said: “‘ Alas! for these fourteen years have I been wander- 
ing through the world, waiting only for this event; and 
now the thing is come to pass, that I may be destitute of 
all hope, I am in prison, from which I never expect to 
depart with life!”—‘‘ And what,” said the keeper, “ hast 
thou to do with the affairs of princes? Or what business 
hast thou with Sicily?” When he replied, ‘My heart is 
fit to burst, when I call to mind the rank my father held 
there ; for though I was but an infant when I fled from 
thence, I can very well remember his being governor under 
King Manfredi.”—“ And who was thy father, then?” con- 
tinued the keeper. ‘‘ My father,” replied he, ‘‘I may now 
safely discover, since I now see myself out of all danger 
from such a discovery: his name was, and is still, if he be 
living, Arrighetto Capece; and I am not Jeannot, but 
Goffredi; and I make no doubt, if I was at liberty, but by 
returning to Sicily I might obtain great promotion.” The 
honest man, without asking any more questions, reported 
all this, as soon as he had an opportunity, to Conrado, 
who, seeming to the keeper to take no notice of it, went 
directly to Madam Beritola, and inquired of her whether 
she ever had a son by Arrighetto, who was called Goffredi. 
The lady replied, in tears, that if her eldest son was living, 
he was so called, and was now twenty-two years of age. 
Conrado hearing this, immediately concluded it must be 
the same person, and if this should prove so, a method 
occurred how he might at the same time show mercy, and 
take away his daughter’s disgrace and that of his family, by 
making her his wife: he consequently called Jeannot 
secretly before him, and examined him particularly with 
respect to his past life; and finding, by many manifest 
tokens, that he was truly Goffredi, the son of Arrighetto 
Capece, he thus addressed him: “ Jeannot, you know how 
great an injury you have done me in the person of my 
daughter ; for, as I always treated you well, you ought te 


— Sere =a. 


78 THE DECAMERON 


have considered my honour and interest in all things as 
became a servant: many people there are, who, had they 
been used by you in this manner, would have put you to 
an ignominious death, which my pity for you would not 
permit. Wherefore, seeing, as you inform me, that you are 
honourably descended both by father and mother, I will 
put an end to your trouble, if you yourself are willing, and 
releasing you from your captivity, restore at once both your 
honour and my own. You know that my daughter La 
Spina, whom, unluckily for you both, I found in dalliance 
with you, is a widow, and of a good fortune: you are no 
stranger either to her temper or family ; concerning your 
own circumstances, at present, I shall say not a wora. 
Therefore I am disposed, if you are so inclined, that as 
you have dishonourably made her your mistress, you now 
make her honourably your wife, and, accepting you for 
my son, I give you leave to remain with me as long as you 
both please.” 

Imprisonment had made great alteration in the person of 
Jeannot ; but the greatness of mind which he possessed 
from his birth, was not at all impaired, any more than the 
affection he still bore towards his mistress: and though he 
most earnestly desired what Conrado had now so frankly 
offered, and saw himself entirely in his power; yet could 
he by no means dissemble what his brave soul prompted 
him to speak on this occasion, and therefore he replied in 
this manner: “Sir, neither a desire of power, a thirst of 
wealth, nor any other motive, could ever induce me to plot 
like a traitor against your life or estate. I have loved 
your daughter, do still, and always shall love her, because I 
hold her worthy of it: and if I have committed a crime, it 
is a crime inseparable from youth. Would people but once 
call to mind that they have been young themselves, and 
compare our offences with their own, those offences would 
appear less grievous. I have always wished for what you 
now offer, and should have requested it long since, could I 
have thought it would have been granted me; it is now the 
more pleasing, as it was less expected: but if you intend 
nothing of what you say, feed me no longer with expectation, 
but rather send me back to my prison, where, use meas you 


SECOND DAY 79 


please, I shall always love and honour you for her sake.” 
Conrado was astonished at hearing this, and esteeming him 
to be of a generous disposition, and fervent in his affection 
towards the lady, he valued him the more; wherefore he 
raised him up, and embraced him, and without more delay 
sent for his daughter: her confinement had made her pale 
and meagre, and quite a different person from what she 
used to be: there, by mutual consent, were the espousals 
solemnised ; and after some days, without anybody knowing 
what was done, having furnished them with everything that 
was proper, and now thinking it a fit time to please the two 
mothers, he called. his own wife and the Goatherdess to- 
gether, and to the latter he said, “‘ What would you say now, 
if I should show you your eldest son married to one of my 
daughters?” She replied, ‘‘I can only say this, that ] 
shall think myself more obliged to you, if possible, than 
I am at present, as you will restore to me what is dearer 
than my own life; and by doing it in that manner, you will 
in some measure recall all my lost hopes ;” and with these 
words she began to weep. To his wife he then said, ‘And 
what will you think if I show you such a son-in-law ?”— 
‘Whether he be a gentleman or a peasant,” answered she, 
“if you like it I shall be pleased.” — ‘‘ Well,” replied 
Conrado, ‘‘I hope in a few days to make you two happy 
women.” When the young couple had in a measure re- 
covered their former looks, and had furnished themselves 
with suitable apparel, he one day asked Goffredi, if it would 
not add greatly to his joy could he have a sight of his 
mother? ‘I cannot believe,” replied he, ‘‘that her mis- 
fortunes have suffered her to live so long ; but if it should be 
so, nothing could be more desirable; for, by her assistance, 
I might reasonably expect to recover my estate in Sicily.” 
Conrado then sent for both the ladies, who expressed 
the utmost satisfaction at beholding the bride, wondering 
nevertheless what inspiration had guided Conrado to this 
extraordinary courtesy in marrying her to Jeannot; whilst 
Beritola, considering what she had heard from Conrado, 
began to observe him very attentively ; and by a hidden 
virtue, which had roused in her some resemblance of her 
son’s features in his infancy, without waiting for any other 


80 THE DECAMERON 


proofs, she threw her arms about his neck, whilst excess of 
maternal joy and pity denied her the power of utterance ; 
but, as if they had locked up all her senses, she swooned 
away in his arms. He, remembering to have seen her 
often in the castle without knowing her, was all amaze- 
ment; yet now, by mere instinct of nature, immediately 
called her to mind; and, blaming himself for his long in- 
sensibility, embraced her in a most tender and affectionate 
manner. Beritola had no sooner recovered her senses, 
by the help of Conrado’s wife and daughter, who ad- 
ministered cold water and other necessary helps for such 
purpose, but she again began to embrace her son, using 
many kind and tender expressions full of maternal affection ; 
he likewise expressing the same dutiful reverence to her. 
These affectionate greetings were repeated over and over, 
to the great joy of the beholders, whilst they recounted to 
each other their several misfortunes ; and Conrado, having 
signified to his friends, who heard it with great joy, the new 
alliance made by him, and appointed a magnificent enter- 
tainment, suitable to the occasion, Goffredi addressed him- 
self to him in the following manner: “Sir, you have made 
me a happy man on many accounts, and treated my mother 
always with the utmost respect; wherefore, that nothing 
may be left undone which it isin your power to do, I humbly 
beg you would oblige my mother and myself, and grace our 
entertainment with the presence of my brother, who now 
lives as a servant in the house of Signor Guasparrino d’Oria, 
who, as I told you before, took us as a privateer ; and, at 
the same time, that you would also send a proper person to 
Sicily, to learn the state of the country, and to inform him- 
self concerning my father, whether he be alive or dead. If 
he be alive, then to know fully in what state or condition he 
is, and to come afterwards to us, and give us an account.” 
The motion made by Goffredi was so pleasing to Conrado, 
that without more delay he sent two discreet persons, one to 
Genoa, and the other to Sicily: he who went to Genoa, 
having met with Guasparrino, entreated him, on the part of 
Conrado, to send him Scacciato, or ¢he Expelled, and his 
nurse, relating everything that Conrado had done with 
regard to Goffredi and his mother; which, when Guas- 


SECOND DAY 81 


parrino had heard, he was greatly surprised, and he replied: 
“True it is, that Iam ready to oblige Signor Conrado to 
the utmost of my power; I have had such a boy as you 
speak of, and his mother, about fourteen years, whom I 
shall willingly send him; but tell him from me not to 
be too hasty in giving credit to what Jeannot shall say (who 
calls himself Goffredi), because he is a more wicked boy 
than he may imagine.” Having said this, and made the 
messenger welcome, he sent privately for the nurse, and 
questioned her about the thing ; who, having heard of the 
rebellion in Sicily, and understanding that Arrighetto was 
yet living, now laid all fear aside, and told him everything as 
it had happened, and the reason for her acting in the manner 
she had done.. Guasparrino, finding the accounts which 
the nurse and messenger gave to be entirely the same, 
began now to give credit to it ; and inquiring more narrowly 
into all the circumstances, for he was a very cautious person, 
and finding them to fall exactly right, he grew ashamed of 
himself for his vile treatment of his captive, and to make 
him amends, since he knew of what consequence his father 
had been, and now was, he gave him his daughter in 
marriage, a beautiful young lady of about eleven years of 
age, and with her a very large fortune. ‘The time of feasting 
being over, he went on board a galley, well armed, taking 
with him his son and daughter, with the messenger and 
nurse, and arrived at Lerici, where he was received by 
Conrado, and conducted from thence, with all his atten- 
dants, to ‘a castle of his, which was at no great distance, 
where a most noble banquet was prepared for them. Now, 
as to the joy of the mother in meeting again with her son ; 
of the two brethren in seeing one another; and of all three, 
in beholding their faithful nurse ; as well as the satisfaction 
also which was. manifested by all towards Guasparrino and 
his daughter, and by them again to the whole company, and 
by the whole company to Conrado, his wife, children and 
friends: this was beyond expression, and therefore I refer 
it to your more able imagination. And, that it might be 
rendered still more complete, it pleased God, a most liberal 
giver when He makes a beginning, to add the good news of 
the life and prosperity of Arrighetto Capece: for even as 


82 THE DECAMERON 


they were feasting, and the concourse great both of lords 
and ladies, it chanced that the first course was scarcely set 
upon the table, before the messenger arrived who had been 
dispatched to Sicily, and brought an account, amongst other 
things, concerning Arrighetto, that, being closely confined 
by King Charles, when the insurrection first began inthe 
country, the people ran to the prison, and having slain the 
guards, they set him at liberty, and appointed him their 
leader, he being Charles’s principal enemy; and under his 
conduct they afterwards routed and slew many of the 
French, on which account he became a great favourite with 
King Peter, who had reinstated him in all his former 
possessions. The messenger further announced that he 
was received with the utmost joy by him, for the most 
welcome news, concerning his wife and son, of whom he 
had not received the least intelligence since he had been a 
prisoner; and that he had sent a yacht to bring them back, 
which was now at hand, with a great number of gentry on 
board to bear them company. This was most welcome 
news; and Conrado immediately rose, with some of his 
friends, and went to meet the gentlemen and ladies, who 
were sent to Beritola and Goffredi, and after giving them a 
most hearty welcome, he introduced them to the banquet, 
which was not half over; there they were beheld by the 
lady and by Goffredi with such joy, that the like was 
scarcely ever known; and before they would sit down, they 
paid their compliments on the part of Arrighetto in the best 
manner they were able, both to Conrado and his lady, for 
the honour conferred. on his wife and son, as well as upon 
himself, with the offer of anything that lay in his power for 
them to command. Turning also to Guasparrino, whose 
kindness came unlooked for, they assured him, that as soon 
as Arrighetto knew what he had done for the Lxfelled, 
similar acknowledgments would be made to him. After 
which they sat cheerfully down with the new-married people. 
Nor was it that day only that Conrado feasted his son-in- 
law. with all his relations and friends, but he continued 
to do so for some time, till at length they desired to depart ; 
and taking leave in a most affectionate manner of Conrado 
and his lady, and also of Guasparrino, they went on ship- 


SECOND DAY 83 


board together; namely, Beritola and the two new-married 
couples, with their attendants; and the wind proving fair, 
they soon got to Sicily, where they were received by 
Arrighetto with incredible joy ; and it is reported that they 
lived for a long period together in the utmost felicity, with 
thankful hearts to Heaven for the mercies received by 
them. 


NOVEL VII 


The Sultan of Babylon sends one of hts daughters te be married to 
the King of Algarve, who, by divers accidents in the space of four 
years fell into the hands of nine different men in different places. 
At length, being restored to her father, she went to the King of 
Algarve as a@ maid, and, as at first she was intended, to be hts 
wife. 


THE novel related by Emilia did not perhaps extend itself 
so far in length, as it moved compassion in the hearts 
of the young ladies for the accidents that had befallen 
Beritola, which had caused them all to weep: but it being 
now ended, the queen ordered Pamphilus to follow, who, 
in obedience to her commands, thus proceeded : 

It is no easy matter for us, most gracious ladies, to have 
a thorough knowledge of everything we do: for we often 
find that many, supposing if they were rich that they 
should then live securely and at ease, not only offer up 
their prayers to God, but studiously incur all kinds of 
danger and fatigue to become so; which, when effected, 
has been the occasion of their losing their lives by the 
hands of such people as have thirsted after their wealth, 
who, before they had attained to such riches, were their 
entire friends: others, who from a low estate, have made 
their way to a throne, amidst a thousand dangerous en- 
counters, and through the blood of their brethren and 
friends, expecting to find supreme felicity therein, have, 
besides the infinite cares and anxieties which they have 
experienced in that station, found to their cost, at last, 
that poison is often mingled in the golden cups of princes, 

Many people there are who covet some bodily accom» 


34 THE DECAMERON 


plishment, as strength, beauty, &c., with which they who 
are endowed are taught, that death, or a most calamitous 
life, is often occasioned thereby. But because I would 
not speak of all our frail desires, I dare affirm, that there is 
not one of them which we can fix upon with any certainty 
of being happy by that choice; the safest way then is, to 
leave all to the good providence of God, who best knows 
our wants, and is most able tu supply them. Men offend 
in coveting many things; but you ladies sin chiefly on 
one poifit, namely, in the desire of beauty ; insomuch, that 
not being satisfied with that share of it which nature has 
given you, you call in the assistance of art, to improve it. 
it is upon this account that I shall relate what happened 
to a beautiful Saracen lady, who, in the space of four years, 
was, for her beauty, married nine several times. 

It is now a long time since there lived a Sultan of 
Babylon, called Beminedab, who was fortunate in all his 
affairs. Amongst other children, both male and female, 
he had a daughter named Alathiel, who, in the opinion of 
all that saw her, was the fairest lady in the whole world. 
And because the King of Algarve had afforded him great 
assistance in a defeat occasioned to a most numerous army 
of Arabians that had assailed him, and -had demanded her 
afterwards in marriage, he consented as a most special 
favour: and providing a ship, well equipped for the pur- 
pose, with all necessary provisions, and sending an honour- 
able train both of lords and ladies to bear her company, 
he commended her to the protection of Heaven, and took 
his leave. The sailors, as soon as a fit opportunity offered, 
hoisted ‘their sails, and leaving the port of Alexandria, 
sailed prosperously many days; when, having passed the 
island of Sardinia, and now seeming to be near the end of 
their voyage, on a sudden, contrary winds arose, which 
were so boisterous, and bore so hard upon the ship, that 
they often gave themselves over for lost. Nevertheless, 
for two days together, they tried all the means they could 
devise, amidst an infinite number of tempests, to weather 
it out; but all to no purpose, for every blast was worse 
than the former. And not being able to comprehend by 
marinal judgment where they were, or to see to any distance 


SECOND DAY 85 


on account of the clouds and dark night, being now not 
far from Majorca, they felt the ship split; and perceiving 
no hopes of escaping, every one caring for himself only, 
they threw a little boat into the sea, reposing more con- 
fidence of safety that way than by abiding any longer in 
the broken ship. The men therefore that were in the 
ship went into it, one after another; although those who 
were first down made strong resistance with their drawn 
weapons against other followers; and thinking to avoid 
death by this means, they ran directly into it; for tne boat, 
not being able to bear them all, sunk straight to the bottom, 
and the people therein all perished. The ship being driven 
furiously by the winds, though it was burst and half full of 
water, was at last stranded near the Island of Majorca, no 
other person remaining on board but the lady and her 
women, all lying as it were lifeless, through the terror 
occasioned by the tempest. It struck with such violence, 
that it was fixed upon the sand about a stone’s throw 
from the shore; where it continued all that night, the 
winds not being able to move it. When daylight appeared, 
and the storm was something abated, the lady, almost dead, 
lifted up her head, and began, weak as she was, to call 
first one, and then another of her servants; but all to no 
purpose, for such as she called for were far enough from 
her: wherefore, receiving no answer, and seeing no one, 
she was greatly astonished; and raising herself up as well 
as she could, she beheld the ladies that were of her com- 
pany, and some other of her women, lying all about her; 
and trying first to rouse one, and then another of them, 
she scarcely found any that had the least understanding 
left; so much had sickness and. fear together affected 
them, which added greatly to her consternation. Never- 
theless, necessity constraining her, seeing that she was 
alone, she knew not where, she shook those that were 
living till she made them get up, and perceiving that they 
were utterly ignorant of what was become of all the men, 
and seeing the ship driven upon the sands, and full of 
water, she began with them to lament most grievously. 
It was noonday before they could descry any person from 
on shore, or elsewhere, to afford them the least assistance. 


86 THE DECAMERON 


At length, about that time, a gentleman, whose name was 
Pericon da Visalgo, passing that way, with many of his 
servants, on horseback, upon seeing the ship, imagined 
what had happened, and immediately sent one of them 
on board, to see what was remaining in her. The servant 
got into the ship with some difficulty, and found the lady 
with the little company that was left her, who had all 
hidden themselves, through fear, under the deck of the 
ship. As soon as they saw him, they begged for mercy ; 
but not understanding each other, they endeavoured, by 
signs, to inform him of their misfortune. The servant 
carried the best account he could to his master of what he 
had seen; who ordered the ladies, and everything that was 
in the ship of any value, to be brought on shore, conducting 
them to one of his castles, where he endeavoured to com 
fort them under their misfortunes by this generous enter- 
tainment. By the richness of her dress he supposed her 
to be some person of great consequence, which appeared 
more plainly by the great respect that was paid to her by 
all the women: and although she was pale and in disorder, 
through the great fatigue she had sustained, yet was he 
much taken with her beauty; and he resolved, if she had 
no husband, to make her his wife; or, if he could not 
have her as such, still not to lose her entirely. Pericon 
was a man of stern looks, and rough in his person; and 
having treated the lady well for some time, by which means 
she had recovered her beauty, he was grieved that they 
could not understand each other, and that he was unable 
to learn who she was; yet, being passionately in iove, he 
used all the engaging arts he could devise to bring her 
to a compliance, but all to no purpose; she refused all 
familiarities with him, which inflamed him the more. This 
the lady perceived, and finding, after some stay there, by 
the customs of the place, that she was among Christians, 
and where, if she came to be known, it would be of no 
great service to her; supposing also, that, at last, Pericon 
would gain his will, if not by fair means, yet by force; she 
resolved, with a true greatness of spirit, to tread all mis- 
fortune under foot, commanding her women, of whom she 
had but three now alive, never to disclose her quality, 


SECOND DAY 87 


unless there should be hopes of regaining their liberty ; 
recommending it farther to them to maintain their chastity, 
and declaring her fixed resolution never. to comply with 
any one besides her husband; for which they all com- 
mended her, promising to preserve their honour, as she 
had commanded them. Every day did his passion increase 
so much the more as the thing desired was more near, and 
yet more difficult to be obtained: wherefore, perceiving 
that entreaty was to no purpose, he resolved to try what 
art and contrivance could do, reserving force to the last. 
And having once observed that wine was pleasing to her, not 
having been accustomed to it, as being forbidden by her 
country’s law, he determined to surprise her by means of 
this minister of Venus. And seeming now to have given 
over his amorous pursuit, which she had used her best 
endeavours to withstand, he provided one night an elegant 
entertainment, at which she was present, when he gave it 
in charge to the servant that waited upon her, to serve her 
with several wines mingled together, which he accordingly 
did; whilst she, suspecting no such treachery, and pleased 
with the rich flavour of the wine, drank more than suited 
with her modesty, and forgetting all her past troubles, 
became gay and merry ; so that, seeing some women dance 
after the custom of Majorca, she also began to dance after 
the manner of the Alexandrians; which when Pericon 
observed, he supposed himself in a fair way of success, and 
plying her still with more wine, continued this revelling 
the greatest part of the night. At length, when the guests 
departed, he went with the lady into her chamber, who 
having at that time more wine than modesty, undressed 
herself before him, as if he had been one of her women, 
and got into bed. He instantly followed, and accomplished 
his purpose. They afterwards cohabited together without 
any reserve, till at length, fortune, unwilling that she who 
was to have been the wife of a king, should become the 
mistress of a nobleman, prepared for her a more barbarous 
and cruel alliance. 
Pericon had a brother, twenty-five years of age, of a most 
complete person, called Marato ; who having seen her, and 
flattering himself, from her behaviour towards him, that he 


| 


88 THE DECAMERON 


was not displeasing to her: supposing also. that: nothing 
obstructed his happiness, except the guard which his brother 
had over her; he consequently contrived a most cruel de- 
sign, which was not long without its wicked effect. . There 
was by chance a ship in the haven at that time, laden with 
merchandise bound for Chiarenza in Romania, of which two 
young Genoese were the masters, who only waited for the 
first fair wind to go out: with them Marato made a contract, 
to receive him with the lady the following night. When 
night came, having ordered how the» thing should: be 
managed, he went openly to the house, nobody having 
the least mistrust of him, taking with him some trusty 
friends, whom he had secured for that service, and con- 
cealed them near the house: in the middle of the night, 
therefore, he opened the door to them, and they slew 
Pericon as he was asleep in bed with the lady; seizing 
upon her, whom they found awake and in tears, and 
threatening to kill her if she made the least noise. They 
took also everything of value that belonged to Pericon; 
with which Marato and the lady went instantly on board, 
whilst his companions returned about their business. |The 
wind proving fair, they soon set sail, whilst the lady reflect- 
ing on both her misfortunes, seemed to lay them much to 
heart for a time; till being over persuaded by Marato, she: 
began to have the same affection for him that she had enter- 
tained for his brother ; when fortune, as if not content with’ 
what she had already suffered, prepared another change of 
life for her. Her person and behaviour were such, as to 
enamour the two masters of the ship, who neglected all 
other business to serve and please her ; taking care all the 
while that Marato should have no cause to suspectiit. And 
being apprised of each other’s love, they hada consultation 
together about it, when it was agreed to have her in common 
between them, as if love, like merchandise, admitted of 
partnership; and observing that she was narrowly watched 
by Marato, and their design thereby frustrated, they took 
the opportunity one day, as the ship was under full sail, and 
he standing upon the stern looking towards the sea, to go 
behind and throw him overboard; whilst: the ship had 
sailed on a full mile before it was known that he had fallen 


SECOND DAY 89 


m: as soon as the lady heard of it, and saw no likely 
means of recovering him again, she fell into fresh troubles, 
when the two lovers came quickly to comfort her, using 
many kind and tender expressions, which she did not under- 
stand; though indeed she did not then so much lament 
Marato as her own private misfortunes. After some little 
time, imagining that she was sufficiently comforted, they 
fell into a dispute together which should have the first en- 
joyment of her; and from words they drew their swords, 
and came to blows, the ship’s crew not being able to part 
them, when one soon fell down dead, the other being 
desperately wounded ; which occasioned fresh uneasiness 
to the lady, who now saw herself left alone, without any one 
to advise and help her: she was fearful also of the resent- 
ment of the two masters’ relations and friends: but the 
entreaties of the wounded survivor, and their speedy arrival 
at Chiarenza, saved her from the danger of death. She went 
on shore with him there, and they continued together at an 
inn; whilst the fame of her beauty was spread all over the 
city, till it reached the ears of the Prince of Morea, who 
was then by chance at Chiarenza. He was impatient to get 
a sight of her; and after he had seen her, was so charmed, 
that he could think of nothing else: and being told in what 
manner she came hither, he began to contrive means how 
to obtain her; which when the man’s relations understood, 
they immediately sent her to him, to. her great joy, no less 
than the prince’s, now thinking herself freed from all danger. 
The prince perceiving her rare accomplishments, joined to 
a matchless person, though he could have no information 
concerning her, yet concluded that she must be nobly 
descended; and such was his fondness for her, that he 
treated her not as a mistress but a wife. She now recollect- 
ing what she had already suffered, and being pretty well 
satisfied with her present situation, began to be easy and 
cheerful, whilst her charms increased to that degree, that 
she was the chief subject of discourse throughout Romania. 
_Hereupon the Duke of Athens, a young and gay person, a 
relation also to the prince, had a mind to see her; and came 
one day thither under pretence of a visit to him, as usual, 
with a noble retinue, when he was handsomely entertained. 


~ 


go THE DECAMERON 
Talking together, after some time, concerning the lady’s 


\N great beauty; the duke asked whether she was such as 


fame had reported; to which the prince replied, “she far 
exceeds it; but let your own eyes convince you, and not 
my. bare assertion.” The duke soliciting the prince very 
earnestly to gratify his curiosity, they went into her apart- 
ment together, when she received them with great good 
manners and cheerfulness, being apprised of their coming ; 
and though they could not have the pleasure of conversing 
together, as she understood little or nothing of their lan- 
guage, yet they looked upon her, the duke more especially, 
as a prodigy of nature, scarcely believing her to be a mortal 
creature ;.and, without perceiving how much of the amorous 
poison he had taken in by intently gazing upon her, and 
meaning only to gratify himself with the sight of her, he 
soon became over head and ears in love. After they had 
parted from her, and he had time to reflect, he began to 
think the prince the happiest person in the universe, in 
being possessed of such a beauty; and, after much musing 
upon it, having more regard to his lust than to his honour, 
he resolved at all adventures to deprive him of that bliss, 
and to secure it for himself: and having a heart to put what 
he had resolved into execution, setting all reason and justice 
aside, his mind was wholly taken up in devising a fit stratagem 
for his purpose. One day, therefore, according to a most 
wicked agreement, which he had made with a valet-de- 
chambre belonging to the prince, whose name was Ciuriaci, 
he gave secret orders to have his horses and things got 
ready for a sudden departure; and the following night, 
taking a friend with him, and being both completely armed, 
they were introduced by that servant into the prince’s 
chamber, whom they found in his shirt, looking out of a 
window towards the sea, to take the cool air, the weather 
being very hot, whilst the lady was fast asleep. Having 
then instructed his friend what he would have done; he 
went softly up to the window, and stabbed him with a 
dagger through the small of his back, and threw him out. 
Now the palace was seated upon the sea-shore, and very 
lofty ; and the window at which the prince stood looking 
from, was directly over some houses, which the force of the 


SECOND DAY 91 


waves had beaten down, and which were but little frequented ; 
on which account, as the duke had before contrived it, there 
was no great likelihood of its being discovered. The duke’s 
companion when he saw that was over, took a cord which 
he carried with him for that purpose, and seeming as if he 
was going to caress Ciuriaci, threw it about his neck, and 
drew it so tight, that he prevented his crying out, whilst the 
duke came to his assistance, and they soon dispatched, and 
threw him down after the prince. This being done, and 
plainly perceiving that they were not heard or seen by the 
lady, or any one else, the duke took a light in his hand, and 
went on softly to bed, where she lay in a sound sleep, and 
he stood beholding her for some time with the utmost 
admiration ; and if she appeared ’so charming before in her 
clothes, what was she not without them? Not at all dis- 
mayed with his late-committed sin, his hands yet reeking 
with blood, he crept into bed to her, she taking him all the 
while for the prince. 

After he had been with her for some time, he ordered 
his people to seize her in such a manner, that she could 
make no outcry ; and going through the same back door at 
which he had been introduced, he set her on horseback, 
and carried her away towards Athens. But, as he was 
married, he did not choose to bring her thither, but left her 
at one of his country seats, a little way out of town, where 
he secretly kept her, to her great grief; allowing her, in a 
most genteel manner, everything that was necessary. 

The prince’s servants waited till nine o’clock that morn- 
ing expecting his rising; but hearing nothing of him, and 
thrusting open the chamber doors, which were only closed, 
and finding nobody within, they concluded that he and the 
lady were gone privately to some other place to divert 
themselves for a few days, and therefore thought no more 
about the matter. The next day it happened, by great 
chance, that a fool going amongst those ruinous houses 
where the dead bodies were lying, took hold of the cord 
that was about Ciuriaci’s neck, and dragged him along after 
him: which surprised many people to whom he was known ; 
who, by fair words and much persuasion, prevailed upon 
the fellow to show them where he had found him: and 


92 THE DECAMERON 


there, to the great grief of the whole city, they saw. the 
prince’s body also, which they caused to be interred with 
all due pomp: and reverence. Inquiring afterwards who 
should commit so horrid a deed, and perceiving that the 
Duke of Athens was not to be found, but was gone privately 
away, they judged (as it really was) that he had done it, and 
taken the lady with) him. Immediately they elected the 
prince’s brother to be their sovereign, inciting him. to 
revenge so horrid a fact, and promising to assist him to the 
utmost of their power. He being afterwards fully assured 
of the truth of what they had but before surmised, collected 
together all his relations, friends, and vassals, and muster- 
ing a powerful army, directed his course against the duke: 
who had no sooner heard of these preparations, but he also 
levied a great army, and many princes came to his relief. 
Amongst the rest, Constantius, son to the Emperor of 
Constantinople, and. Emanuel the nephew, attended by a 
goodly body of troops, who were kindly received by the 
duke, and the duchess more especially, being their sister- 
in-law. Things tending every day more and more to a war, 
the duchess had them both one day into her chamber, 
when, with abundance of tears, she recounted to them the 
whole history and occasion of the war, and the ill-usage she 
had received from the duke on account. of this woman, 
whom she imagined he kept privately; and complaining 
very earnestly to them, she conjured them, for his honour, 
and her own ease and comfort, to give her their best assist- 
ance. The two young lords knew all this matter before, 
and therefore, without asking many questions, they com- 
forted her as well as they could, and informing themselves 
where the lady was kept, they took their leave. Hearing 
much talk of her beauty, they became very desirous of 
seeing her, and entreated the duke to. show her to them; 
who, never remembering what had happened to the prince, 
promised to do so; and ordering a magnificent entertain- 
ment to be prepared in a pleasant garden belonging to the 
palace where the lady was kept, the next day he took them, 
and some more friends, to dine with her. Constantius, 
being seated at the table, began, full of admiration, to gaze 
upon her, declaring to himself that he had never seen any- 


SECOND DAY 93 


hing like her, and that the duke, or any other person, was 
excusable, who, to possess so.rare a beauty, should commit 
any act of baseness or treason: and looking still more and 
more upon her, and evermore commending her, it happened 
just to him as it had done to the duke; for, going away 
quite enamoured of her, he had given over all thoughts of 
the war, contriving only how to steal her away from the 
duke, at the same time that he concealed his love from 
every one. Whilst he was in this agitation, the time came 
when they were to march against the prince, who was now 
advancing near the duke’s territories; upon which. the 
duke, with Constantius and the rest, according to the 
resolution that was taken, marched out of Athens to secure 
the frontiers, and to prevent the prince’s passing any 
further. Continuing there for some days, and Constantius 
having still the lady at heart, and concluding, now the 
duke was absent, that he might more easily compass his 
intent, he, that there might be a pretence for his return, 
feigned himself extremely sick: and, with the duke’s 
consent, leaving:the command of his troops to Emanuel, 
he returned to Athens to his sister’s, where, after some 
days, having encouraged her to talk of her husband’s base- 
ness in keeping a mistress, he: at last said, that if she 
would give her consent, he would rid her: of, that trouble, 
by ‘removing? the lady out» of the way. The duchess, 
supposing that this was spoken out of pure regard to, her, 
and not to the lady, replied, that she should be very glad if 
it'could be ‘done in such a manner as: the duke should 
never know that she was in .any way accessory; which 
Constantius fully promised, and she accordingly agreed 
that he should do it as he thought most advisable. He 
provided, therefore, with all secrecy, a light vessel, and sent 
it one evening near to the garden where the lady was kept, 
having first informed some of his people that were in it, 
what he would have them do; and taking others with him 
‘to the house, he was kindly received by the servants in 
waiting there, and by the lady also herself, who took a walk 
with him at his request, attended by the servants belonging 
to them both, into the garden; when, drawing her aside 
towards a‘door which opened to the sea, as if he had 


94 THE DECAMERON 


business to communicate from the duke, on a signal given, 
the bark was brought close to the shore, and she seized 
upon and carried into it, whilst he, turning back to the 
people that were with her, said—“ Let no one stir or speak 
a word at the peril of their lives; for my design is not to 
rob the duke of his lady, but to take away the reproach of 
my sister.” ‘To this none being hardy enough to return an 
answer, Constantius, boarding the vessel, bid the men ply 
their oars, and. make the best oftheir way, which they 
accordingly did, so that they reached: Egina by the next 
morning. There they landed, and reposed himself awhile 
with her, who had great reason to curse her beauty. From 
thence they went to Chios, where, for fear of his father, and 
to prevent her being taken away from him, he chose.to 
abide as a place of security: and though she seemed 
uneasy for a time, yet she soon recovered, as she had done 
before, and became better reconciled to the state of life 
wherein bad fortune had thrown her. 

In the meantime Osbech, king of the Turks, who was 
constantly at war with the emperor, came by chance to 
Smyrna, and hearing how Constantius lived a lascivious 
life at Chios, with a mistress that he had stolen, and no 
provision made for his safety, he went privately one night 
with some armed vessels, and made a descent, surprising 
many people in their beds before they knew of his coming 
upon them, and killing all that stood upon their defence; 
and after he had burnt and destroyed the whole country, 
he put the’prisoners and booty which he had taken on 
board, and returned to Smyma. Upon taking a view of 
the prisoners, Osbech, who was a young man, saw this lady, 
and knowing that she was Constantius’s mistress, because 
she was found asleep in his bed, he was much pleased at it, 
and took her for his own wife, and they lived together very 
happily for several months. Before this thing happened, 
the emperor had been making a treaty with Bassano, King 
of Cappadocia, who was to fall on Osbech on one side, 
whilst he attacked him on the other; but they could not 
come to a full agreement, because Bassano made a demand 
of some things which he was unwilling to grant; yet now, 
hearing of what had befallen his son, and being in the 


SECOND DAY 95 


utmost concern, he immediately closed with the King of 
Cappadocia, requesting him to march with all expedition 
against Osbech, whilst he was preparing to invade him on 
his part. When Osbech heard of this, he assembled his 
army before he should be surrounded by two such mighty 
princes, and marched on to meet the King of Cappadocia, 
leaving his lady behind, with a faithful servant of his, at 
Smyrna; they soon came to a battle, wherein his army was 
entirely routed, and himself slain. Bassano remaining 
victorious, he proceeded on to Smyrna, the people making 
their submission to him all the way as he went. But now 
Osbech’s servant, whose name was Antiochus, who had the 
lady in charge, although he was in years, yet seeing her so 
beautiful, and forgetting the regard which was due to his 
lord, soon became in love with her himself; and, as he 
understood her language, it was a great comfort to her, 
because she had been forced to live for some years like a 
deaf and dumb person, for want of understanding other 
‘people, or being understood by them. This gave him great 
advantages, and whilst his master was warring abroad, he 
spared no pains to gain her consent, in which he succeeded : 
and when they understood that Osbech was'slain, and that 
Bassano carried all before him, without waiting for his 
coming upon them, they fled away privately, taking with - 
them what belonged to Osbech of any value, and came to 
Rhodes. They had not been there long before he was 
taken extremely ill; and having a merchant of. Cyprus 
along with him, who was his great friend, and finding him- 
self at the point of death, he resolved to bequeath to him 
the care of his lady and wealth also; and calling them both 
to him, he spoke as follows: “I find myself declining 
apace, which grieves me much, because I had never more 
pleasure in living than at present; yet one thing is a 
great comfort to me, viz., that I shall die in the arms of 
‘those two persons whom’ I love and value beyond all the 
rest of the world ; namely, in yours, my dearest friend, and 
in that lady’s, whom I have loved, ever since I have known 
‘her, more than my own life. I am uneasy, indeed, when I 
consider that I leave her here a stranger, and destitute both 
‘of help and advice, and should be infinitely more so if you 






96 THE DECAMERON 


were not with us, who, I know, will take the same care of 
her, on my account, as you would: of myself; therefore 
I entreat you, in case I should die, to take my affairs 
and her together, under your protection, and to act, 
with regard to both, as you think will be most for 
the comfort of my departed soul.— And you, my 
dearest love, let me beg of you never to. forget me, 
that I may boast, in the next world, that I have been be- 
loved by the fairest lady that ever nature formed ; assure 
me of these two things, and I shall die. satisfied.” The. 
merchant and lady were both much concerned, and pro- 
mised to fulfil his desires, if he should chance to die; and 
soon afterwards he departed this life, when they took care 
to have him decently interred ; which being done, and the 
merchant having dispatched all his affairs, and wanting to 
return home in a Catalan ship that was, there, questioned 
the lady, to know what she intended to do, because it 
became necessary for him to go back to Cyprus: she made 
answer, that she was willing to go with him, hoping that, 
for the love he bore towards his friend, he would regard 
her as his own sister. He replied, that he was ready to 
oblige her in everything; and, that he might the better 
defend her from all injuries whatever, till they came to 
Cyprus, she should rather call herself his wife. Being on 
board the ship, they had a cabin and one little bed allotted 
them, agreeable to the account they had given of them- 
selves, by which means that thing was brought about, which 
neither of them intended when they came from Rhodes ; 
for they forgot all the fine promises they had made to 
Antiochus, and before they reached Baffa, where the 
Cyprian merchant dwelt, they began to consider themselves 
as man and wife. Now a certain gentleman happened 
to arrive at Baffa about that time, on his own, private 
affairs, whose name was Antigonus, one advanced. in years, 
and of more understanding than wealth: for by meddling 
much in the affairs of the King of Cyprus, he had found 
fortune very unkind to him. Passing one day by the house 
where she lodged, the merchant being gone about his 
business to Armenia, and seeing her by chance at the 
window, he took. more than ordinary notice of her, on 


SECOND DAY 97 


account of her beauty ; till at length he began to recollect 
he had seen her somewhere before, but could by no means 
remember where. She, also, who had long been the sport 
of fortune, the time-now drawing near when her sorrows 
were to have an end, as ‘soon as she saw Antigonus, 
remembered that;she had seen him in no mean station 
in her father’s service. at Alexandria. And having now 
great hopes of regaining her former dignity by his: advice 
and assistance, she took. the opportunity of the merchant’s 
absence to send for him.| Being come to her, she modestly 
asked him whether he was not Antigonus of Famagosta, as 
she really believed. -He answered, that he was, and added 
—“ Madam, Iam convinced that I-know you, but: I cannot 
call to mind where it is that I have seen you; therefore, if 
it. be no offence, let me entreat you to tell me who you are.” 
The lady, perceiving him to be the same person; wept ‘very 
much, and throwing her arms, about his neck, asked him, 
at last, as,one, confounded. with surprise, if he had never 
seen her at Alexandria? When: he immediately knew her 
to be Alathiel, the sultan’s daughter, whom they supposed 
to have been drowned; and being about to pay homage 
to her, she would not suffer him to do it, but made him 
sit down... He, then, in a most humble manner, asked her 
where she had been,’ and from whence: she now) came; 
because for some years it was believed, through all Egypt, 
that she was drowned. | She replied, ‘*I had-much rather it 
had so happened than to have led sucha: life.as I have 
done; and I believe my: father, if he knew it, would wish 
the same.” With these words the tears ran down her 
cheeks in great abundance: and. he replied, “‘ Madam, do 
not afflict yourself before it is:necessary to do so; tell me 
only what has happened to you;perhaps it may be of such 
1 nature, that, by the help of God, we may finda remedy.” 
—“ Antigonus !” replied the fair lady, ‘‘I think when I see 
rou that I behold my father : moved therefore with the like 
luty and |tenderness that I owe to him, I shall reveal to you 
vhat I might, have kept secret: there are few persons that 
should desire to meet with sooner than yourself. to: advise 
ne; if, therefore, when you have heard my whole story, 
ou think there,is.any probability of restoring me to my 
| D 


98 THE DECAMERON 


former dignity, I must beg your assistance: if you think 
there is none, then I conjure you to tell’no person living 
that you have either seen or heard anything about me.” 
After which, shedding abundance of tears during the whole 
relation, she gave a full account of what had befallen her, 
fromthe time of her shipwreck to that very hour. Anti- 
gonus showed himself truly concerned at what he had 
heard, and (thinking some little time about it) he said 
to her :—‘‘ Madam, ‘since it has never been known, in all 
your misfortunes, who you were, I will restore you to your 
father, to whom you shall be more dear than ever, and 
afterwards you shall be married to the King of Algarve.” 
She inquiring how that could be brought about, he let her 
know in what manner he intended to do it. Therefore, 
that no delay might intervene to prevent it, he returned 
directly to Famagosta, and waiting upon the king, he thus 
addressed him:—-“‘ My liege, you may, if you please, do. great 
honour to yourself, and service to me, who am impoverished 
on your account, and without any expense.” The king 
desiring to know by what means, Antigonus thus answered : 
—‘* A young lady has just come to Baffa, daughter to the 
sultan, who was generally thought to have been drowned, 
and who, to preserve her honour, hath undergone great 
calamities, and is now reduced, and desirous of returning to 
her father: if, therefore, you will be so good as to send 
her home under my conduct, it will redound greatly to your’ 
honour, and prove much to my advantage, nor can the 
sultan ever forget the favour.” The king, moved by a 
truly royal spirit, replied, that he was well pleased with the 
proposal, and immediately sent in great state for her to 
Famagosta, where she was received with all honour and 
respect, both by him and the queen; and being questioned 
by them concerning her misfortunes, she made such answers 
as she had been before taught by Antigonus. ~ ’ 

In a few days afterwards, at her own request, she was 
sent with a great retinue both of lords and ladies, and 
conducted all the way by Antigonus, to the sultan’s court ; 
where, with what joy they were all received, it is needless 
here to mention. When they had rested awhile after their 
iourney, the sultan became desirous to’ know how it hap- 


SECOND DAY 99 


pened that she was now living, and where she had been 
all’ this time; without his’ being ever able to hear a word 
about her. When she, who had all’ Antigonus’s lectures 
perfectly by heart, gave her fathér the following narration: 
“Sir, about twenty days after my departure from you, our 
ship was split in the night by a violent tempest, and driven 
on the western coasts ; nor did I ever learn what befell the 
men that were in it: I only remember this, that when 
daylight appearéd, and I seemed recovered, as it were, from 
death to life, certain peasants of the country spying the 
ship’s wreck, came to plunder’it; whilst I was carried first 
on shore, with two of my women, who were immediately 
borne’away by’ some young fellows, and taken different 
ways, so that I could never learn what became of either of 
them. I also was seized by two of them, making the best 
defence I could; and: as they were dragging me towards 
the wood by the hair of my head, four persons on horse- 
back came riding by, when they immediately left me and 
fled. But the gentlemen on‘ horseback, who appeared to 
possess some authority, came to me, and we spoke to each 
other, without knowing what either'of us said. At last, 
after conferring together, they set me upon one of their 
horses, and carried me to a monastery of religious women, 
according ‘to their laws, where’ I was received with great 
honour and respect. And after I had been there for 
some time, and learnt a little of their language, they began 
to inquire of me who I was, and from whence I came; 
whilst I (fearful of telling the truth, lest they should have 
turned me out as an enemy to their religion) made them 
believe that I was daughter to a gentleman of Cyprus, who 
sending me to be married to one of Crete, we happened 
to be driven thither by ill weather, and shipwrecked. 
Conforming to their customs in many things, for fear of the 
worst, I was asked, at length, by the chief among them, 
whom they call Lady Abbess, whether I desired to return 
to Cyprus; and I answeréd, that I desired nothing more. 
But she, tender of my honour, would never trust me with 
‘any persons that were going to Cyprus, till: about two 
months ago, certain French gentlemen with their ladies 
came this way, one of whom was related to the abbess; 


100 THE DECAMERON 


who, understanding that.they were going to visit the holy 
sepulchre at Jerusalem, where.he, whom. they: believe. to. 
be God, was buried, after he had been put to death by the 
Jews, recommended me. to them, and desired. that,.they 
would deliver me to my father at Cyprus... What respect 
and civilities I received. both from the gentlemen and _ their 
ladies, would be, needless to mention... Accordingly we 
went on ship-board, and,,came in a few days to Baffa, 
where, when I. saw myself. arrived, a stranger to, every 
person, nor, knowing what to. say to these gentlemen, who 
were to present.me to my. father; behold (by: the, great 
providence of God), whom should I. meet with upon. the 
shore, but Antigonus, the, very. moment, we were landed. 
I called to him in, our language (that none of them might 
understand us) and desired him to own meas his daughter. 
He easily. understood my., meaning, and ‘showing. great’, 
tokens. of joy, entertained. them as well.as his, narrow 
circumstances would allow, and brought me to the King of 
Cyprus, who. received and sen¥,me hither, with such marks 
of respect as I.am no way able to.relate; if there be any- 
thing omitted in this relation, Antigonus,,.who, has, often. 
heard the whole from me, will, report it.” _Antigonus,, then 
turning to the sultan, said, ‘‘ My lord,, according both to 
her own account, and the information of the gentlemen. and 
their wives, she has said nothing but truth. One part: only 
she has omitted, as not suiting. with her great modesty,to. 
report, namely, what the; gentlemen and their ladies. told, 
me, of the most virtuous life that she had led amongst those 
religious women, and their great concern at parting ; which, 
if I were fully to recount,to you, would. take up; both,this. 
day.and night too. Let.it. suffice then that, I have said. 
enough (according to what I could both hear.and see) to 
convince you that you have. the fairest, as well.as the most 
virtuous daughter of any prince in the world.” ‘The jsultan, 
was overjoyed with this relation; begging) over and over, 
that God would pour down His:blessings ;on,.all who. had, 
showed favour to his daughter; and particularly the King: 
of Cyprus, who, had sent her home so, respectfully : and, 
having bestowed great gifts upon Antigonus, he.gave ‘him. 
leave to return to Cyprus; sending letters, as also a special 


SECOND DAY 101 
ambassador to the king, 'to thank him on her account. 
And ‘now, desiring’ that what he had formerly proposed 
Should take'effect ; namely, that she should be married to 
the King of Algarve, he wrote to give him a full relation of 
the whole matter; adding, that’ he should send for her, 
‘if he desired thé match to’ proceed, ‘The king was much 
pleased with the news, and sent in great state, and received 
her as his queen: whilst she, who had passed’ through the 
hands of eight men, now camé to him as a pure virgin, and 
ved Liston with him the'rest of their lives. 


‘NOVEL. VIII 


T. he fours We heing falsely accused, was banished from France, 

and left his two children in different parts of England, Return- 
ing afterwards privately out of Ireland, he found them settled in 
great repute; Srom thence he goes as a common servant into the 
King of &rance’s army, and his innocence being made public at 
last, he is restored to his former dignity. 


Tue” ladies sighed very much upon hearing the various 
accidents that had befallen‘the fair lady ; but who can say 
what it'was that gave occasion to those sighs? Perhaps 
there weré some ladies’ present who sighed more because 
they had ‘not been so often married as she, than ‘out of any 
pity for the poor woman. But be that as it will, having 
laughed much at’ Pamphilus’s conclusion, and the queen 
perceiving the story to be now at an end, laid her next 
charge upon Eliza, who began in this manner :— 

We have chosen'a most spacious field for the subject 
of this day; nor is there a person among us who could 
not run ten courses ‘as well as one: so copious are the 
great and wonderful changes of fortune! And, therefore, 
amongst such ‘an infinity of things, as I am to recount one, 
let it’ be as follows : 

“When the Roman empire was translated from the Frenck 
to the Germans, an utter enmity and continued war arose 
between the two nations: wherefore the King of France 
‘and his son, as well for the defence of their own kingdom, 
as the annoyance of their adversaries, raised a great and 


rc2 THE DECAMERON 


powerful army, consisting of all their kindred and allies, 
besides the force of their own kingdom, to go against the 
enemy. But before they set. out upon their expedition, 
they chose not to leave the state without a governor; and 
knowing Gualtier, Count d’Angiers, to be a wise and worthy 
person, and one entirely devoted to their interests, and also 
expert in military affairs, although he.seemed rather. de- 
signed for a life of ease and inactivity than martial toils, 
they made him viceroy during their, absence, and then set 
forward on their expeditions. The count: began to execute 
his office with all due conduct and discretion, on all occa- 
sions, with the queen and her daughter-in-law ; and honour- 
ing them as his mistresses and superiors, although they 
were left subject to his guidance and authority. Now he 
had a very graceful person, was about forty years of age, 
and as good-natured and agreeable as man could be; nor 
could the world show, a more complete gentleman in all 
respects than himself. Whilst the king therefore and his 
son were employed in the above-mentioned war, it hap- 
pened, that Gualtier’s lady dying, and leaving him two 
children, a boy and a girl, and he being much at the ladies’ 
court, consulting with them, on the affairs of the kingdom, 
that the king’s son’s wife cast her eyes upon him, and in 
regard both to his person and virtue became secretly in 
love. Considering herself to be young,,and,he now a 
widower, she concluded that her desires would be more 
readily gratified, and that nothing obstructed it but the 
shame of making the discovery, which she soon overcame. 
Being one day alone, and thinking it a fit. opportunity, she 
sent for him, under pretence of other business. The count, 
whose thoughts were quite different, came immediately to 
her, and sitting down together upon a couch, he inquired 
the reason of her sending for him at that time ; she, after 
some silence, incited at length by her passion, trembling 
also, and blushing with extreme shame, with words broken 
and confused, declared her mind in this manner: “ My 
dear lord and friend, it cannot have escaped your most 
acute judgment, how great the frailty is of both, the sexes, 
and for diverse reasons, of one more than the other: there- 
fore the very same offence, before an equitable judge, will 


SECOND, DAY 103 


be differently punished according to the different quality of 
the offenders. Besides, who will not say that.a poor man 
or woman, who have no other subsistence but what they 
earn by their daily labour, are not more blamable, should 
they be seduced. and carried away by love, than a lady of 
wealth and leisure, who has nothing to think of but how 
to, divert and please herself? Every one must allow it: 
this will be a sufficient excuse, therefore, in such a case, 
for a lady who gives way to such a passion, supposing her, 
at the same time, to make choice of a wise and worthy 
person on whom she fixes her affection. These circum- 
stances, thus. concurring in myself, not to mention my 
youth, and, the absence of my husband, plead strongly in 
my behalf, and, if they have their due weight with you, I 
may expect that. you will afford me that advice and assist- 
ance I now require from you. I. must confess, that, not 
being able, on account of my husband’s distance from me, 
to resist my most. earnest. desires, living also a life of ease 
and indolence, as you see, I have suffered myself to be 
quite led aside by them; which, though it would redound 
but little to my credit should it be known, yet, so long as 
it is a secret between us, there can be no room for reproach, 
and let me tell you, that love has been so gracious to me, 
that far from taking away my understanding, it has rather 
enlightened it, by presenting you to me as an object worthy 
of my affection; a person whom I esteem as the most 
accomplished nobleman this day in France, and one at pre- 
sent without a wife, as I am without a husband: wherefore 
I entreat you, by the tender regard I have for you, that you 
would vouchsafe to show the same towards me, and pity 
my youth, which consumes for your sake, even as ice melts 
before the fire.” At these words the tears poured down 
her cheeks so fast, that she was prevented from saying any- 
thing further ; therefore, hanging down her head, and over- 
come as it were with her lamentation, she reclined at length 
upon his bosom. The count being a person of the strictest 
honour, began to reprimand her fond and idle love; and 
when she would have thrown her arms round his neck, he 
pushed her from him, protesting that he would be cut in 
“pieces before he would so wrong his lord and master bim- 


104 THE DECAMERON 


self, or suffer others to do it. The lady hearing this, forgot 
the love she had for him, and in a most vehement rage 
exclaimed, “Villain as thou art, and shall’ my request be 
despised by thee in this manner? As thou deSirest to 
make me suffer, know that I will either cause thy death, or 
force thee to leave thy country.” And with these words, 
tearing all her hair and’ clothes, she cried ‘out, most’ vio- 
lently, ‘Help! help! the Count d’Angiers is about to offer 
violence.” He, seeing this, and fearing more from the 
envy of the court than his'own conscience, supposing also 
that more credit would be given to her wicked story than 
to his innocence, hastened out of the chamber as fast as he 
could, and fled to his own house, when, ‘without delay, he 
set fis children on horseback, and made the best of ‘his 
way to Calais. Upon the clamour of the lady many flocked 
thither, who, seeing her in that condition, and hearing the 
cause of her outcry, not only believed what she told them, 
but concluded that the count’s genteel ‘behaviour and 
assiduity at court were merely to effect this purpose; they 
ran therefore in the utmost fury to his house to seize him, 
and not finding him there they stripped it of PSone Dark of 
value, and pulled it down to the ground. ’ 

This ‘disagreeable néws soon reached the ears of the 
king and prince in the camp, who, being greatly disturbed 
at it, sentenced him and all his descendants to perpetual 
banishment, offering a great reward to that person who 
should bring him either dead or alive. ‘The count, uneasy 
that by the flight he had incurred the imputation of guilt, 
arrived at Calais with his children, without making ‘himself 
known-to any person; from ‘whence he ‘went directly for 
England, and came to London in mean apparel, having by 
the way taught his children these two things ; first, to bear 
their misfortunes patiently, to which fortune had reduced 
them without any fault of theirs: and in the second ‘place, 
to be exceedingly cautious never to reveal from ‘whence 
they came, or whom they belonged to, if they had the least 
regard for his life. His son, named Lewis, was about nine 
years of age, and his daughter Violante, seven ; and they 
both attended more to their father’s admonition than could 
have been expected from their youth, as will appear by the 


SECOND DAY 105 


sequel. Thinking it best for their greater security to change 
their names, he called the boy therefore Pierrot, and the 
girl Jeannette, and then went like common French beggars 
about the city asking charity. Now it happened, that, as 
they were waiting at a church door one morning, a certain 
great lady, who was wife to one of the king’s principal 
officers of state, cast her eyes upon them, and asked him 
where they came from, and whether those were his children? 
He replied, that he came from Picardy, and that the mis- 
behaviour of his eldest son, who proved a very unhappy 
young man, had obliged him to quit his country with these 
two other children. The lady, who was of a compassionate 
temper, was pleased with the looks of the girl, and she said 
to him, ‘‘Honest man, if thou be content to leave thy 
daughter with me, I like her countenance so much, that I 
would willingly take her; and if she behave well I will in 
due time provide her a husband, so that she shall live com- 
fortably all her life.” He was rejoiced at the offer, and with 
tears in his eyes resigned the child up to the lady, recom- 
mending her to her in a most affectionate manner. Thus 
having disposed of his daughter, and well knowing to whom, 
he resolved to stay there no longer, but going across the 
island, begging all the way, and his son along with him, not 
without the utmost fatigue, being not used to travel on foot, ' 
he came at length into Wales, where dwelt another great 
lord, an officer also and servant of the king, to whose palace, 
which afforded relief to all, they repaired for support: there 
it happened, that the lord’s son and some other young noble- 
men were diverting themselves with running, leaping, and 
some other youthful exercises; and Pierrot, making one 
among them, outdid them all in every sport. Which when 
the nobleman perceived, he was mightily pleased with him, 
and inquired whom he belonged to; and it being told him 
that he was a poor man’s son, who came there to beg alms, 
the lord requested that he would give him to him. The 
count, who desired nothing so much, freely consented, 
though their parting was a little grievous; and having now 
provided for both his children, he determined to stay ‘no 
‘longer in England, but, as soon as he had an opportunity, 
she passed into Ireland, and came to Stanford, where he 
D2 


106 THE DECAMERON 


hired himself to a certain knight, who belonged to the 
retinue of an earl in that county, and did the duty of a 
common servant for many years. In the meantime Violante, 
now called Jeannette, who continued with the lady at Lon- 
don, increased in beauty, and every other accomplishment, 
as well.as in stature ; insomuch that she became the delight 
both of the lord and lady, as well as of every one that knew 
her; whilst the lady, who had no other notion, of her quality 
than what she had received from herself, was thinking of 
marrying her according to her supposed rank; when it 
pleased God, the just rewarder of people’s merits, seeing 
that she was nobly born, and punished only for other 
people’s wickedness, to order it otherwise. The lady had 
an only son. by her lord, of whom they were, both exceed- 
ingly fond, and deservedly so, on account of his excellent 
disposition and character; who, being about six years older 
than Jeannette, and beholding her extraordinary beauty and 
merit, was sO much in love, that he cared for no other 
woman. Supposing, however, that she was of low extrac- 
tion, he was afraid to demand her of his father and mother, 
and, through fear of being reprimanded for placing his affec- 
tions so low, he kept it smothered in his breast; for which 
reason it preyed more upon him than if he had divulged it, 
till at length he fell into a grievous fit of sickness, Here- 
upon several physicians were sent for, who had regard to 
one symptom after another, till, not being able to make out 
what his disorder was, they gave:/him over, This occasioned 
the utmost affliction both to his father and mother, who 
were continually requesting him to tell them the secret 
cause of his malady; to which he either made no answer 
but by sighs, or else that he found himself continually 
wasting. 

Now one day it happened that a certain young physician, 
though profound in science, was sitting by his bedside, and 
feeling his pulse, when Jeannette, who attended carefully — 
upon him, out of respect to his mother, chanced to come at 
that very instant into the room; upon seeing her the young 
gentleman, without uttering a word, or making one sign, 
conceived more strongly in his heart the passion of love, 
when his pulse began to beat higher than usual, which the 


SECOND DAY 107 


physician soon perceived, and, being surprised, kept his 
fingers some time upon it, to see how long that difference 
would last. As she went out of the room again it abated ; 
wherefore, thinking that he had now found out in some 
measure what the disorder was, pretending, also, as if he 
wanted to speak to Jeannette, and still holding him by the 
hand, he had her called back: she returned instantly, when 
the pulse beat as before, which ceased at her departure. 
The physician, now fully satisfied, got up, and taking the 
father and mother apart, he spoke in this manner to them: 
—‘*The welfare of your son is not in the power of the 
physicians, but it lies in the hands of Jeannette, whom I 
find, by certain tokens, that he is desperately in love with ; 
although, by what I can perceive, she knows nothing of it. 
You see now what you have to do, if you value his life.” 
The lcrd and lady were well enough pleased to hear there 
was one way to save their son’s' life, though the fear of being 
obliged to do what they most dreaded gave them concern ; 
namely, their marrying her to him; therefore, after the 
physician was ‘departed, they went together to their son, 
when the lady said to him as follows:—‘‘I could never 
have believed, my dear, that you would have concealed any 
of your wants from me, especially since your not’ being 
gratified in that respect has been attended with such evil 
consequences ;' for you might have been confident, as you 
may still, that there is nothing which I would not do for 
your ease and welfare, as much as for my own. But since 
you have done so, God has been more merciful ‘to you than 
you would be to yourself; for I know now that it is all 
occasioned by love, whoever the person is: and why should 
you have been ashamed to tell me? It is natural to one of 
your age; and were you a stranger to love, I should think 
you of little worth.—Then lay yourself open to me, and cast 
away all that drooping and melancholy, which has brought 
this disorder upon you, assuring yourself, that there is no- 
thing you can desire of me, wherein I will not gratify you to ~ 
the utmost of my ability for I love you as dearly as my own 
fe. Away, then, with this bashfulness, and tell me plainly 
f I can be of service with regard to this love of yours ; and 
f you find me not in earnest, then believe me to be the 


108 THE DECAMERON 


cruellest of mothers.” The young gentleman changed 
colour at hearing these words; but considering afterwards 
that none could sooner serve him than his mother, he 
spoke, without the least reserve, to this effect: ‘‘ Madam, 
nothing has made me keep my love a secret so much as 
what I have observed in many people, when they grow into 
years, they forget that they ever were young: but now I 
find you considerate in that point, I shall not only confess 
your suspicion to be true, but will also name the person to 
you, provided you will, according to promise, use your best 
endeavours in my behalf; and by that means you may save 
my life.” The lady, thinking to serve him in a different 
manner from what he himself intended, bade him speak out, 
and she would endeavour that he should have his will. He 
then replied :—‘‘ Madam, the beautiful and agreeable be- 
haviour of Jeannette, and her not pitying me, or being even 
sensible how much I love her, which I have yet revealed to 
no person living, have brought me to this condition. If 
therefore you make not your word good to me, you may 
depend upon it my life is short.” She, thinking it a more 
proper time to comfort than reprove him, said, with a smile, 
*‘ And have you then languished so long for this? ‘Have a 
good heart, and when you grow better leave the matter to 
me.” The young spark, full of hopes, began now to show 
speedy symptoms of amendment, to the mother’s great com- 
fort, who was contriving how to perform her promise; and 
one day, calling Jeannette to her, she began by way of dis- 
course, to ask her if she ever had a sweetheart?, She 
blushed, and replied, ‘‘ Madam, it 111 becomes a poor young 
woman like myself, who is driven from her own house, and 
subject to other people’s will and pleasure, to think of love.” 
She then rejoined: “If you, have no lover, I will procure 
one for you, that you may live with some comfort; for so. 
pretty a girl as you are should never be without.” Jeannette 
said, ‘‘ Madam, as you have taken me from my father, and 
brought me up like your own child, I am obliged to do all: 
in my power to please you: but in this particular, I think I 
am in the right not to doit. If you mean to give me a 
husband, him I shall respect, but no one else. For, of all 
that my ancestors possessed, there is nothing now remain: 


SECOND DAY 109 


ing to me but their virtue, and this I intend to keep as long 
as I live.” This was quite contrary to her intention, as to 
the promise she had made her son; though, like a prudent 
lady, she seemed to commend her for it, and said, ‘‘ But if 
the king, who is young, should have a fancy for you, would 
you deny him?” She immediately replied, his Majesty 
might use force, but he should never have her consent, but 
upon terms of honour. ‘The lady, seeing what her resolu- 
tion was, said no’more; but resolved to put her to the 
proof; saying to her son, that, when he got well, she would 
put them into a room together, and he might do with her as 
he pleased; for it was performing a base. office for her to 
proceed any further in that way for him. This was by no 
means pleasing to the young gentleman, who relapsed 
immediately upon it: which the lady perceiving, she laid 
open her intention to Jeannette, and found her more 
resolute than ever. “Her husband being made acquainted 
with the whole matter, it was agreed by them (though much 
against their inclinations), that he should marry her; pre- 
ferring their son’s life, with a wife much beneath him, to his 
death without one. This was soon put in execution to 
Jeannette’s great joy ; who gave thanks to Heaven for its 
mercy vouchsafed towards her; but all the while she would 
make no other discovery of herself, than that she was 
daughter to a person in Picardy. They lived afterwards 
very happily together. Let us now return to Pierrot, whom 
we left in Wales with a great officer belonging to the king of 
England: he grew much in favour with his lord, and being 
graceful and manly in person, and more expert at all military 
exercises than any one in the country, was known every- 
where by the name of Pierrot the Picard; and as God had 
been gracious to his sister, so was He no less kind and 
merciful to him; for the plague happened to break out in 
that country, which swept away half the people, and a great 
part of those who were left had fled for refuge into other 
lands, so that the nation appeared quite desolate. In this 
mortality, the lord and lady, with their son, brethren, and 
nephews, and near relations, all died, and there was none of 
the family left besides an only daughter, just of age to 
marry, and a few servants. As soon as the plague was 


110 THE DECAMERON 


over, she took him for her husband, on account of his 
extraordinary merit, and made him lord of all her in- 
heritance. » And it was not long before the, »King of 
England, hearing of the late lord’s death, and knowing 
Pierrot’s worth and valour, substituted him in his. place, 
and gave him the same power and command. Such was 
the fate of the two innocent children of the Count d’Angiers, 
whom he had left destitute. 

It was now eighteen years since he came from Paris, and 
having suffered great hardship during his abode in Ireland, 
and as he was at present grown old, he was willing. to know 
what was become of his children. Being quite altered as 
to his person, and finding himself more robust and active 
than in his youth, which he had spent in ease and indo- 
lence; he left the service where he had been for so long 
a time, and set forward in a mean dress for England: 
coming, therefore, to the place where he had left Pierrot, 
he found him to be a great and mighty lord, and in perfect 
health, which gave him the utmost satisfaction ;- but yet he 
was resolved not to discover himself, till, he should know 
what was become of Jeannette. Travelling: still on for 
London, and inquiring cautiously there concerning. the 
lady with whom he had left his daughter, he discovered 
that Jeannette was married to her son, which pleased him 
infinitely, esteeming all his past sufferings as nothing, since 
he had found both his children alive and in prosperity. 
Desirous now of seeing her, he repaired to the house like 
a poor man, and being taken notice of by James Lamiens 
(for that was the husband’s name), he had pity on him, and 
ordered one of his servants to give him relief. Jeannette 
had several children by him, the eldest of whom was about 
eight years old, all very beautiful; and seeing the count 
begin to eat, they came about him, and. were as much 
pleased with him, as if by some secret instinct they had 
known ‘him to be their grandfather; whilst he, knowing 
them to be his grandchildren, showed a thousand little 
fondnesses towards them, which made them unwilling to 
leave him, when their governor would have called them 
away. On-hearing this, Jeannette came out of her cham- 
ber, and threatened to whip them, if they would not obey 


SECOND DAY ? IL 


their master ; this set the children a crying, and they said 
they had much rather stay with the» honest man who 
loved them better than their master did‘; which made the 
lady and count both laugh heartily. He arose, not as a 
father, but like a poor man, *to pay reverence to his 
daughter, as to a great lady; feeling great pleasure at the 
sight of her, whilst she had not the least knowledge of 
him: so much was he altered, having grey hairs, a long 
beard, and a black and meagre countenance, that he was 
nothing like the same person. The lady, now seeing how 
unwilling the children were to go away, ordered their 
master to let them stay a little. In the meantime, her 
husband’s father came home, and being told: this circum- 
stance by the master, and holding her always in great 
contempt, he said, ‘Let them stay with a mischief to 
them! they only show from whence they are descended ; 
they are beggars by the mother’s side, therefore no wonder 
that they herd with beggars.” The count was much 
grieved at hearing these words, but was forced to bear 
this injury, as he had done many others. The lady’s 
husband ‘had taken notice all this time of the children’s 
fondness towards the count, and was mneasy at it; yet so 
tender was he of them, that rather than make them uneasy, 
he gave orders that if the honest man was willing to stay 
in his service, he should be received... He replied, that 
he should be glad of it, but was only able to look after 
horses, which he had been used to all his life. Hehada 
horse ‘assigned him, therefore, to take care of, and when 
his business was over, he used to play with the children. 
Whilst fortune had thus disposed of the Count d’Angiers 
and his children, it came to pass, that, after making many 
‘treaties. with ‘the Germans, the King of France died, and 
was succeeded by that son, whose wife had occasioned the 
count’s banishment; and the last truce being now expired, 
a bloody war broke out afresh, when the King of England, 
who was his kinsman, sent him large supplies of people, 
under the command of Pierrot, one of his generals, and 
James Lamiens, son to another of his generals, with whom 
went the count as a servant; when he did: more service, 
both by his’ valour and good counsel, than was expected 


{12 THE DECAMERON 


from him... In the course of the war, the Queen of France 
chanced to be taken ill, and finding herself past all hopes 
of recovery, made a confession of ‘all her sins to the Arch- 
bishop of Rouen, esteemed by all as a most:holy person : 
and, amongst other things, she mentioned the great wrong 
she had done to the Count-d’Angiers ; nor was she content 
with speaking this to him only, but she also declared it 
before many other worthy persons; desiring their inter- 
cession with the king, that, if he or his children were any 
of them living, they might be restored to their former 
condition: soon after this she died, and was honourably 
interred. This confession being reported ‘to the king, 
after much concern for the injury done to so great a man, 
he issued out a proclamation, that if any person could give 
tidings of the count, or his children, they should be well 
rewarded, since the queen had declared him innocent of 


_ the crime for which he had fled his country; and that his 


Majesty meant to exalt him to the same, or even greater, 
honours than he had before. When the count heard this, 
he went immediately to James Lamiens, and desired him 
to go along with him to Pierrot; saying; he would then 
show them what the king desired. Being all met together, 
the count declared to. Pierrot that he was now resolved to 
discover himself; for, ‘‘ Pierrot,” says he, “ James Lamiens, 
who is here present, has married your sister, and has 
had no fortune with her: therefore I intend that he shall 
have the benefit of the king’s proclamation, both for your- 
self, as son to Count d’Angiers, for Violante your sister 
and his wife, lastly for myself, who am the Count d’Angiers 
and your father.” 

Pierrot, hearing this, and looking steadfastly upon him, 
soon called him to mind, and fell down with tears at his 
feet: whilst James Lamiens was surprised with so much 
wonder and joy together, that he scarcely knew what to 
say; and blushing for the little respect he had showed — 
him, he humbly asked pardon, which the count readily 
granted: and when they had talked over their several 
fortunes, sometimes in tears, and then again in joy, they 
would have had him put on suitable apparel, which he would 
by no means consent to, being desirous that James Lamiens 


SECOND DAY 113 


should first secure the reward, and, by presenting him in 
that garb, make the shame for his ill usage so much the 
greater. James hereupon went with the count and Pierrot 
before the king, offering for the promised reward to pro- 
duce both the count and his children. The king then 
ordered a most magnificent present to be brought, telling 
him it was his own upon those conditions. James then 
stepped back a little, and presented the count as his 
servant, and Pierrot, saying, ‘‘ Behold, sir, the father and 
son; as for the daughter, she is my wife; but with the 
leave of Heaven, you shall see her before it is long.” The 
king, on hearing this, looked earnestly at the count, and, 
notwithstanding his being so much changed, soon called 
him to mind, and, with tears in his: eyes, raised him from 
the ground, on which he was kneeling, and kissed and 
shook him by the hand: he welcomed Pierrot also:in a 
most friendly manner; and ordered that the count should 
have clothes, servants, horses, and everything suitable to 
his quality, which was accordingly done. The king showed 
great respect also'to James Lamiens, and inquired particu- 
larly about everything that had befallen them: to whom, 
atter he had received the reward for making the discovery, 
the count said: ‘ Receive this royal bounty at the hands 
of his Majesty, and remember to tell your father, that your 
children and my grandchildren are not meanly descended 
with regard to their mother.” James received the presents, 
and sent for his wife and mother to Paris; and Pierrot 
also brought his lady, and they were received by the king, 
along with the count, with the utmost joy, who restored 
them all they had lost, with large additions of fortune. 
They had afterwards permission to return home, leaving 
the count at Paris, where he ‘continued to his dying day in 
more repute and glory than ever. 


114 THE DECAMERON 


NOVEL IX 


Bernard of Genoa is imposed upon by one Ambrose, loses his money, and 
orders his wife, who is quite innocent, to be put to death. She 
makes her escape, and goes in man’s dress into the service of the 
Sultan ; there she meets with the deceiver ; and, sending for her 
husband to Alexandria, has him punished; she then resumes her 
former habit, and returns with her husband rich to Genoa. 


E1iza having discharged her duty by the last moving story, 
the queen, who was of a most graceful person, taking the 
next turn upon herself; spoke with a smile to this effect :— 

We must make good our agreement with Dioneus; and 
therefore, as only he and I remain to: speak, I shall begin 
with my story, and leave him to the last; as he has desired. 
It is a common saying, that the deceiver lies at the mercy 
of the deceived: which I think can only be proved true by 
circumstances of that kind, which have happened in the 
world; this then I propose to show you, hoping a relation 
of this sort will not be disagreeable, to the end you may be 
upon’ your guard against such as would deceive you. 

There happened together in an inn at Paris some Italian 
merchants, who had come thither upon their different occa- 
sions, and meeting at supper one night, and. conversing 
merrily of one thing after another, they came at last to talk 
of their wives, whom they had left behind them :, when one 
of them said, in a jesting way, “I do not know what my 
wife does with herself, but Iam sure if'I meet with any 
thing that pleases me, I forget my love for her, and. make 
use of the opportunity.”——“‘ And so do I,” quoth another ; 
‘for whether I believe it or not, my wife will do as she 
pleases.” A third was of the same opinion, and all seemed 
to agree that their wives at home lost no time in their 
absence. Only one man among them all, named Bernard 
Lomellin, of Genoa, avowed the contrary ; declaring that he 
had a wife, in whom were centred all the virtues that could 
adorn either sex: that she was young and beautiful in her 
person ; that she was mistress of her needle; that no man- 
servant waited with more dexterity at his master’s table, 
than he was served by her, she being thoroughly discreet 


SECOND DAY 1T5 


and well bred: that, besides her skill in horsemanship, and 
the management of a hawk, there was no merchant under- 
stood’ accounts better: and coming at length to what 
began the dispute, he declared, with an oath, that no 
woman upon earth could be more virtuous and chaste than 
she was ; for he firmly believed, were he to be absent from 
her ten years, she would have to do with no other person. 
Amongst the merchants who had been talking upon this’ 
subject, was a young fellow called’: Ambrose of Piacenza, 
who made the greatest jest inthe world of what Bernard said 
last in praise of his wife, asking him, whether the emperor 
had given him this privilege, exclusive of the rest of. man- 
kind? Bernard, a: little agitated, said, not the emperor, 
but God Almighty, who was something more powerful than 
the emperor, had bestowed this favour upon him. Ambrose 
replied,:  I:make not the least doubt, but that you think 
you speak truth: but in my opinion, you have not enough 
considered the nature of things: for if you had, I do not 
believe your understanding so mean not to find many 
reasons to make you think more coolly of the matter. 
Wherefore, that you may not imagine that we, who have 
spoken so much at large concerning our wives, suppose 
them of a different make from yours, but that we have, 
merely, regard to the natural propensity of all, I shall beg 
leave to reason a little with you upon this subject. I have 
always understood, that man is the most noble of God’s 
creatures, and that woman is in the next degree to him: 
now as man is allowed to be more perfect, he must con- 
sequently have more resolution and constancy. In like 
manner, women are always more wavering and fickle, as 
I could show by several reasons, which I shall omit at 
present. If therefore man, who is allowed to have the most 
stability, cannot (I will not say resist a woman, that should 
entreat him) -but even desire, and do all that lies in his 
power, to get into the company of a woman that he likes, 
and this not once in a month, but a thousand times every 
day, what can you think a woman, naturally weak, can do 
against the entreaties,’ flatteries, gifts, and a thousand other 
means, which an artful lover knows how to use? Do you 
think she can resist? Affirm it as you will, I can never 


116 THE DECAMERON 


think you in earnest. You say your wife is flesh and blood, 
and therefore subject to the same desires with other women ; 
and her strength to resist those desires must be the same : 
be she then ever so virtuous, itis possible for her to do like 
other women: and if it be possible, you should never have 
denied it in that positive manner, and maintained the 
contrary, as you have done.” 

Bernard replied, and said, ‘I. am a merchant, and not a 
philosopher, and shall answer you as such; I tell you, there- 
fore, that what. you say, may be the case of women of little 
understanding, and who have no sense of shame; but such 
as are wise have that regard for their honour, that they 
become more firm than men, who are not so tender in that 
point; and such an one is my wife.”—“ Truly,” said 
Ambrose, “if for every fault of this kind they were to have 
a horn spring out of their foreheads, to bear testimony 
against them, I believe few would be guilty; but so far 
from having a horn grow, if they be wise, there is nothing 
to make the least discovery ; and as shame and loss of 
character happen only when things are made public, there- 
fore what they can accomplish in secret, they rarely fail to 
do: or, if they abstain, it is through their folly. Take this 
then for a rule—that woman only is chaste who has never 
been asked ; or she who herself has asked and been refused. 
And though I am convinced of this by natural and just 
reasons, yet I should not speak as I do, if I had not tried 
the humours and affections of many different women. Let 
me also tell you, that if I was in company with your most 
virtuous wife, I should not doubt my obtaining the same 
favour from her that I have gained from many others.” 
Bernard was provoked at this, and said, ‘‘ There is no end 
of disputing ; you assert and I assert, which is all nothing: 
but since you’say they are so easily warped, and have such 
an opinion of your own power that way ; to convince you of 
my wife’s virtue, I will forfeit my head, if you ever bring her 
te a compliance, upon condition, that, if you should not 
prevail over her, you only lose a thousand florins of gold.” 
Ambrose replied, with a good deal of warmth, “ What 
service will your life be to me, if I should win it? But 
if you have a mind ta put the thing to the trial, deposit five 


SECOND DAY 17 


thousand florins, which are of less value: than your life, 
against one thousand of mine; and as you fix no time, I 
will oblige myself to go to Genoa, and in less than three 
months, from the day of my departure, to gain my will 
of your wife, and to bring such tokens of that back with 
me, as you yourself shall confess to be just; provided you 
will give me your word, that you will neither come to Genoa 
in that time, nor write to her about that matter.” Bernard 
said he liked the wager; and though the other merchants 
endeavoured all they could to prevent it, as well knowing 
what mischief might ensue; yet the two merchants were 
so warm, that, in spite of all their friends could do, they 
immediately signed the articles to\that purpose. Bernard 
therefore stayed behind, whilst Ambrose made the best of 
his way to Genoa; where he continued a day or two, 
informing himself, as cautiously as possible, of the name of 
the street where the lady lived, as also of her character, 
when he soon heard all that Bemard had related to be true, 
and a great deal more; which made: him conclude that he 
had come thither upon a very foolish errand: but meeting 
with a poor woman who frequented the house, to whom the 
lady was very kind, he wrought so far upon her, by means 
of a bribe, that he was carried in a chest, made according 
to his own direction, not only into the house, but even into 
the lady’s bed-chamber ; where it was to be left for some 
days, for the greater security, as if the good woman was 
going abroad. 

When night came, and the lady, as he supposed, was 
asleep, he opened the chest with certain instruments, which 
he had carried with him for that end, and went softly into 
the room, where a light was burning, by which he observed 
carefully the form and situation of the chamber, and also 
the pictures, and everything remarkable init; which he 
endeavoured to keep in his memory. Coming then to the 
bed-side, and seeing the lady and a little girl that was in 
bed with her both fast asleep, he found her as beautiful as 
if she had been dressed ; but yet he could perceive no sign 
to carry away concerning her, unless it was a mole upon her 
left breast: with which being pretty well satisfied, and not 
daring, from the lady’s known character, to presume farther ; 


118 THE DECAMERON 


after being there the greatest part of the night, he took 
a purse, and also a gown, with a ring and girdle}; all which 
he put into his chest, and went into it again, making it fast 
as before, where he continued two nights, without the 
lady’s perceiving anything of the matter. The third day 
the woman came for the chest; according to her appoint- 
ment, and carried it back, when Ambrose satisfied her 
according to promise, and hastened away to Paris with 
those tokens before the limited time. There he summoned 
the merchants together, who were: present when ‘the wager 
was laid, declaring to Bernard’ that he had won, having 
brought the tokens which he had promised to produce. 
First, then, he described the chamber and the paintings, 
and showed those things, which he said he had received 
from herself. Bernard owned that the chamber was as 
he had described it; and he remembered, also, that the 
things which: he had brought belonged to his wife; but he 
added, that he might have an account of the room, as weil 
as procure the other things, from some of the servants ; 
therefore, if he could say nothing more, this did not seem 
sufficient to entitle him to the wager. When Ambrose 
replied, ‘‘ Truly this ought to satisfy'you; but since you 
would have me. say something more, know then, that 
Madam Zineura your wife has a mole upon her left breast.” 
When Bernard heard this, he was struck'to the very heart, 
and his countenance changed in such a manner, as to con- 
vince them, if he had not said another word, that Ambrose 
spoke truth ; and after some time he replied, “Gentlemen, 
what Ambrose says is true; and as I own myself to have 
lost he may come when he pleases, and I will pay’ him.” 
The money therefore was paid the next day, and Bernard 
set out for Genoa most cruelly incensed against his wife; 
and being come to a country-house of his about twenty 
miles off, he sent a servant whom he could trust, with a 
couple of horses and a letter to her; wherein he acquainted 
her with his return, and that he would have her come away 
along with the servant ; whom he had charged, at the same 
time, as soon as he came toa fit place, to put her to death, ' 
and repair to him. His servant delivered the letter to his 
mistress, who received the news with great joy; and the 


SECOND DAY 11g 


next morning she set forwards with him. As they travelled 
along, talking of divers things by the way, they came into 
a solitary vale surrounded with trees, which the servant 
thought. a fit place for the execution of his master’s orders; 
therefore, drawing a knife out of his pocket, and taking the 
lady by the arm, he said, ‘‘ Madam, commend your soul to 
God, for here you must die.” She, in.the utmost astonish- 
ment, begged for God’s sake that, before he put her to 
death, he would tell her what she had done to offend. him 
in that manner. ‘‘ Madam,” said the servant, “you have 
done me no harm ; and as to your husband, I can only say 
this, that he ordered me to kill you by the way, without 
showing you the least mercy; threatening otherwise to 
hang me up. You know full well my obligations to him, 
and that I must not resist his commands; I am sorry for 
you, God knows, but I cannot help it.” The lady wept, 
and said, *“‘Alas! do not murder me, who have never 
injured you, for the sake of another person: God is my 
witness, who knoweth all things, that I never did anything 
to deserve this. from my husband ; but, setting that aside, 
you may, if you please, serve God, your master, and myself, 
in this manner; namely, do you take my clothes, leaving 
me only your-hat and doublet, and carry them to, my lord 
and yours, telling him that you have killed me; and I 
swear, by that life for which I shall be indebted to you, 
that I will go where neither he, you, nor any person in 
this country, shall ever hear more concerning me.” The 
servant, who. was loth to put her to death, was easily pre- 
vailed upon; and leaving her his coat and hat, and some 
money which she had about her, and entreating her not to 
make any stay, went straight to his master, telling him that 
he had obeyed his commands, and left the body to be 
devoured by wolves. After some time Bernard returned to 
Genoa, and the fact being discovered, he was much blamed 
for what he had done. The lady being left alone, as soon 
as night came on, she disguised herself as well as she could, 
and went to a neighbouring village, where she procured 
what she wanted of an old woman, and she mended and 
cut the doublet shorter, and turned her shift into a pair of 
trousers; and having cut her hair and appearing in every 


120 THE DECAMERON 


respect like a common sailor, she went to the seaside, 
where she met a Catalonian gentleman, named Sefior 
Encararch, who being just come on shore to refresh ‘him- 
self at a spring of fresh water, she fell into discourse with 
him, and, agreeing to enter into his service, went on board, 
calling herself Sicurano da Finale. There she had obtained 
better clothes, and she proved so expert and diligent a 
servant, that he was greatly pleased with her. Soon after- 
wards this gentleman sailed to Alexandria, carrying. with 
him a number of falcons as a present to the sultan, who 
often entertained him at his table; and taking particular 
notice of the behaviour of Sicurano, who waited always 
upon her master, he begged her of the gentleman much 
against his will; and in a little time she was in as great 
favour with the sultan as she had been with her former 
master. Now ata certain time of the year there was to be 
_a fair at Acre, which was under the ‘dominion of the sultan, 
and where there was a great resort both’ of Christian and 
Turkish merchants, for whose greater security the sultan 
used to send one of his ordinary officers with a band of 
soldiers. And the time now drawing near, he resolved to 
send Sicurano for that purpose, being well skilled in the 
languages ; and she arriving at Acre as captain of the guard 
for the merchants, discharged her duty with great care and 
diligence, conversing daily with Sicilian, Pisan, Genoese, 
Venetian, and other Italian merchants, whom she was 
chiefly acquainted with, because they were of her own 
country. As she was one day therefore in a shop belong- 
ing to some Venetian merchant, amongst some other toys, 
she cast her eye upon a purse and girdle, which she soon 
knew to be her own; but without making any such dis- 
covery, she asked whom they belonged to, and whether 
they were to be sold?’ Now it happened that Ambrose 
was come thither with a great stock of goods, along with 
these merchants on board their ship, and hearing that the 
captain of the guard made inquiry whom those things 
belonged to, he stepped forwards, and said, with a laugh, 
‘Sir, they are mine, and not to be sold; but if you like 
them, they are at your service.” . Sicurano seeing him 
laugh, supposing it was at some action or behaviour of 


SECOND DAY 121 


hers, and therefore, with a more settled countenance, she 
said, “I suppose ‘you laugh to see me, a man professing 
arms, inquiring after such womanish toys,”—*“ Sir,” replied 
Ambrose, “I do not laugh at that; but I laugh only at the 
manner by which I obtained them.” Sicurano then replied, 
“Good sir, if it be not too much trouble, tell me how that 
was.” “Sir,” quoth Ambrose, ‘a lady of Genoa, called 
Zineura, wife to one Bernard Lomellin, gave them to me 
one night when I lay with her, and desired I would keep 
them for her sake. I laugh therefore at Bernard’s folly, 
who laid me five thousand florins’to one thousand, that I 
could not obtain my will of her ; which I did, and won my 
wager ; whilst he, who deserved to have been punished for 
his brutality more than she, who did no more than what all 
women do, returned to Genoa, and by what I can find; had 
her put to death.” Sicurano now found out the grounds 
of Bernard’s displeasure ; and as she perceived this man 
had been the cause of it, she determined not to let him go 
unpunished : but seeming to be pleased with his story, she 
became more acquainted with him; and when the fair was 
ended, she took him ‘with her to Alexandria, and made him 
hire a shop, and ‘lodged money in his hands, which turned 
to such account that he was very willing to stay there. 
Sicurano, desirous of making her innocence appear to her 
husband, agreed with some Genoese merchants, under 
some pretence or other, to have him brought thither ; and 
being come in a poor and wretched plight, she had him 
privately toa friend’s house to be taken care of, till it should 
be time to put her purpose in execution. Now Sicurano 
had made Ambrose tell the story before the sultan, who 
“seemed pleased with it; but as soon as her husband was 
come, she determined to wait no longer; and taking a fit 
opportunity, she prevailed upon the sultan to send for 
Ambrose and Bernard both before him, and in the presence 
of Bernard, to make the other confess by force, if he would 
not own it otherwise, how the affair was, which he had 
boasted of concerning Bernard’s wife. Accordingly, they 
were brought face to face, and the sultan, witha stern 
countenance, commanded Ambrose before a number of 
people, to speak the truth, namely, how he had won of 


122 THE DECAMERON 


Bernard the five thousand florins. Sicurano, also, who was 
present and in whom Ambrose put a good deal of confi- 
dence, declared, with a great deal of anger in her looks, 
that he should be severely chastised if he did not: being 
terrified therefore on both sides, and in some measure 
compelled ; expecting also to restore only the five thousand 
florins without any other punishment, he related the whole 
affair. Which being done, Sicurano, as minister to the 
sultan, turned to Bernard, and said, ‘“‘ What did you then 
to your wife, on account of this lie?” He replied, ‘‘ Being 
outrageous with the loss of my money and the shame to 
which I was exposed, for the injury I thought I had sus- 
tained from her, I ordered one of my servants to murder 
her, and, as he informs me, she was immediately devoured 
by wolves.” | 

These things being related in presence of the sultan, and 
_ many other witnesses, without his knowing Sicurano’s pur- 
pose, she said, therefore, ‘‘ My lord, you now see plainly 
what great reason the poor woman has to boast of her 
gallant and husband; for the one deprives her of her good 
character with lies, and ruins her husband at the same 
time; whilst the other, showing greater regard to that 
person’s falseness, than to the virtue of his wife (of which 
he might have. been assured by long experience), has her 
murdered, and devoured by wolves. Besides, such is the 
respect. that they both bear towards her, that she is now 
known to neither of them, though they have been long 
entertained by her. But, that you may more perfectly 
understand what both have deserved, and if, at my request, 
you will punish the deceiver, and excuse the person who 
was deceived, she shall forthwith appear before you and 
them.” The sultan, who was disposed to show favour to 
Sicurano in everything, agreed that the lady should appear ; 
at which Bernard was much surprised, supposing she was 
dead ; whilst Ambrose, foreseeing what was likely to happen, 
began to think of something worse than repayment of the 
money, not knowing whether he had most reason to fear 
or hope in consequence of her appearing there; and he 
waited her coming with the utmost consternation. The 
sultan having thus given leave, Sicurano threw herself at 


SECOND DAY 123 


his feet, and, laying aside her manly voice, and: demeanour, 
she said, “My lord; I am ‘the miserable and. unfortunate 
-Zineura, who, for the space of. six. years, have wandered 
over the world in man’s disguise, being most basely aspersed 
by that villain Ambrose, and given up to a servant by that 
most cruel and unjust man, to be murdered and devoured 
by wolves.” And, showing her breast, she made it appear 
that she was the same woman. ‘Turning then to Ambrose, 
she resolutely demanded, when it was that he had lain with 
her, as he ‘had formerly vaunted? But he, knowing her 
again, was so struck with shame, that he could not utter a 
word. The sultan, who had all along taken her for a man, 
was so surprised at what he heard and saw, that it appeared 
to him more like a dream than truth: but upon recollecting 
himself, and seeing everything plainly made out, he most 
highly commended the: life, constancy, and behaviour: of 
Zinéura, heretofore called Sicurano ; and ordering proper 
apparel and: attendants for her, pardoned Bernard, at her 
request, the death he had justly merited ; who, now know: 
ing her again, kneeled down and begged pardon, which she 
readily granted, however unworthy he was of it, and em- 
braced him as her husband. The sultan then ordered 
Ambrose to’ be tied to a stake, in the most eminent part of 
the city, and his naked body to be smeared over with 
honey, and to’ hang’ there till he should drop in pieces; 
which ‘sentence was:soon put in execution. He next gave 
charge’ that all his substance should be given to Zineura, 
which did not ‘amount to less than’ ten thousand double 
ducats; and making a most sumptuous feast in honour of 
Bernard, as her husband, and Zineura as a most: worthy 
lady, he presented her with plate and money, to the amount 
of ten thousand’ ducats more ;) and providing a ship for 
them, when the feast was’ over, he gave them leave to depart 
to Genoa ;,which they did with great joy, and: were received 
with the utmost respect, especially Zineura, who was thought 
to be dead; and the same esteem was continued towards 
‘her as longas she'lived. As for Ambrose, he was not only 
destroyed the very day he was impaled, by wasps and 
hornets, with which the country abounds, but he was eaten 
to the very bones; which, being bound together by the 


424 THE DECAMERON 

hee -ginews, remained hanging there’ for some time, as a-testi- 
mony of his villainy. “And thus it is ‘that! the deceiver lies 
Poy) atthe mercy of the deceived. | pith! 


a a 
Ps 


df - 
- | ; ’ A s i 7 ; 





NOVEL be 


ak 


i Papantns da Monaro carries away the wife of Stink Ricciardo: di 

. Chinzica,, who, understanding where she was, went thither, and 

ia) growing acquainted with Paganino, he demanded her back, which 

the other consents to, provided she is willing: she refuses.to return; 
and upon Ricciardo’s death became the wife of a a ed 


Att the company: commended ithe queen’s' story, and 
especially Dioneus, who. was the only person left to speak 
for that day; and,\ having said: much in praise of it, he 

- began to this effect :—Ladies, part of the queen’s' novel has 

made me change my intention, with regard to what I meant 

__ to relate for another; which is the brutishnéss of Bernard 

(though it happened well for:‘him), and of. all: such as him- 
self, who’ think as ‘he did;*namely, that whilst they are 
travelling about from place to place, and diverting them- 
selves sometimes with one lady and ‘sometimes with another, 

_ they conclude that their wives sit with their hands: before 

them all the while, as-ifwe do not know to’ the:contrary. 
I ‘shall therefore show you how great: the: folly is of call 
such people; and‘of those especially, who, supposing them- 

4 selves: to be more. powerful than. nature hath really formed 
them, think» to’ cover’ all by fabulous demonstrations ; 
and endeavour to make other persons’ constitutions and 

_ tempers square with their own, however contrary itomay be 

- to their natural bent and inclination.» ‘There ‘lived once at 
Pisa, a certain judge; endowed with greater genius of mind 
than bodily ability, whose name was Signior Ricciardo di 
_Chinzica ;. who, .being persuaded that there) was no more 
in marrying than-in pursuing his:studies, determined, as he 
was very rich,'to have a very young and a very handsome 
wife ; whereas, had he known how to advise himself)as well 
as he did other people, he ishould» have avoided both the 
one and the other. Accordingly, Signior Lotto Gualandi 


- SECOND DAY 125) 


bestowed his daughter upon him, whose name was Bar- 
tolomea, one of the briskest and most. beautiful ladies in 
all. Pisa, though: there are. few of them all) that, are not as 
red as ,a fox ;.and having brought her home) in great state, 
he made. shift to. pass the wedding night. Being a better 
judgé/now: of his own strength, he began to teach her a new 
calendar, showing -her that there was scarcely. a day inthe 
year but what,was dedicated to some saint or other, and 
some, days, had more saints than one; j in reverence .o 
whom,.as he proved. by many reasons, a‘man and his wife 
ought to keep asunder}at. those times. Adding, also, that 
those saints’ days had their fasts; besides the four seasons 
of the+year, the vigils of the apostles, and. a thousand other 
holidays, with, Fridays,) Saturdays,,and Sundays, and ail 
Lent ;,as-also certain observations of ‘the moon, and many 
other exceptions; as, thinking, perhaps, that it was con- 
venient) to keep as) many holidays with regard to his. wife, 
as to:his pleadings in court. And im this manner he lived, 
to her great discontent, scarcely conversing. with her once a 
month, and keeping a strict:watch over her, for fear:some 
other person should teach her what belonged to working- 
days,’ as he had: done to holidays. In the meantime, it 
happenéd that the season growing, extremely hot, he wished 
to go, for his diversion, to.one of his country-seats, near the 
Black: Mountain, and; to take his lady with him for a few 
days ;\and,.to,make it more agreeable to her, they went out 
together one day afishing, when he and the fishermen were 
in one boat, and she was)in another, along with some ladies, 
who, went to-see the sport... Being drawn by their diversion 
many: miles into. 'the sea; without) perceiving it, and whilst 
they were very, intent looking von, they were. surprised by a 
privateer, belonging to one’ Paganino, da Monaco, a famous 
pirate, who.seized) that vessel which had the women: on 
board; and, seeing this fair lady,;:+he carried her into his 
own ship ‘in sight, of her husband, who had. now reached 
the, shoré ;: and without meddling with anything else, sailed 
directly away. » How sorrowful Ricciardo was at seeing this 
‘you: may, easily. imagine, who was’ jealous of the. very air 
itself!: and, accordingly he made many fruitless complaints, 
both at-Pisa and elsewhere,,of the villainy:of these corsairs, 


126 THE DECAMERON 


without knowing whoit. was that had taken i in Or 
whither she was carried. 

Paganino now. was’ much pleased with the aay, seeing 
her so handsome; and being without a wife, resolved to 
keep her as such ; ‘and perceiving that she was under some 
concern, he used many kind and tender expressions, till she 
soon forgot the calendar she had learned ; and, long before 
she reached Monaco, the judge’and his’ laws’ were quite 
gone out of her head, and she lived with all the comfort: in 
the world with Paganino.*’ In some time, it’ came’ 'to 
Ricciardo’s ears what was become of his wife, and ‘he ‘con- 
sequently set off with the utmost impatience, to fetch her’ 
back, supposing no other person so proper as himself, and 
resolved to give any sum of money for her ransom. .* Being 
arrived there, he'saw her and. she him ; and that night she 
told Paganino of it, informing, him what she meant to do. 
_ The next morning Ricciardo meeting with Paganino, they’ 
soon became acquainted together; Paganino seeming. all: 
the time: to know nothing: of him, but waiting to see what 
he meant to do. As soon as’ a fit: opportunity offered 
Ricciardo began to set’-forth the occasion’ of his'coming 
thither, and, in as handsome.a manner? as: he could,: to 
desire he would take what ransom he thought 'fitjand 
restore him his wife. Paganino answered very courteously 
—‘ Sir, you are heartily welcome; but the case, in’ short, 
is this; I have a young woman in the house with me 
(though whether she is your wife, or any other person’s,’ 
that I cannot tell; for I neither ‘knew you nor -her before: 
she lived with me), if you are her husband, as you say, I’ 
will: bring you to her, since you’ seem to’ be a gentleman, 
and she must certainly know you. If she agrees with your 
story, and is willing you should take her away, *your 
behaviour has been such, that’ I ‘shall desire.no other 
recompense than what'you are pleased to give me. But if 
it should prove otherwise, I must tell you, that you “offer 
me great wrong to/attempt to take her from me; for Iam” 
a young man, and know what to do with a wife as well as. 
another person ; especially such an one as she, whovis the 
most agreeable woman’ I ever saw.” | Ricciardo replied, 
“‘ Most certainly, sir; she is my wife; and, if you please to- 


SECOND DAY 127 


take me where she is, you will soon be convinced of it, for 
she will immediately throw her arms about my neck, there- 
fore I desire it may be as you have proposed.”—“ Let us 
go then,” quoth Paganino: and when they were come into 
the house, and sat down together in the hall, he ordered 
her to be called, and she being dressed, and ready for that 
purpose, came to them, taking no more notice of Ricciardo, 
than she would have done of any other stranger that should 
come into the house with Paganino, which, when the judge 
perceived, who expected she would have seen him with 
great joy, he was much surprised and began to say to him- 
self, Surely the grief I have sustained for the loss of her, 
has so changed my looks, that she does not know me 
again.” He therefore said to her, ‘My love, it has cost 
me dear to take you a fishing, for I was never so grieved in 
my whole life, as since I lost you; and yet you seem not 
to know me; so cruelly are you silent. Do not you see 
that I am your Ricciardo, come to pay whatever ransom 
the gentleman might demand, in whose house we now are 
together, to have you back with me? And he is so kind 
as to offer to restore you at what price I shall fix myself.” 
The lady then turning to him, said with a smile, “ Do you 
speak to me, sir? Take care you do not mistake your 
person, for I do not remember ever in my whole life, to 
have seen you before.” He replied, “Do you take care 
what you say; look well at me; if you will remember, you 
may plainly see that I am your husband Ricciardo di 
Chinzica.” The lady made answer, ‘‘ You will excuse me, 
sir, it is not so modest as you may suppose, to gaze much 
upon you ; but I have looked enough to know, that I never 
saw you in my whole life till now.” Ricciardo supposed 
that she did this through fear of Paganino, and that she 
was unwilling to confess before him; for which reason he 
desired, as a favour, to talk alone with her in the chamber. 
_Paganino replied that he was willing, provided he would 
not offer to kiss her against her will. He ordered her then 
to go upstairs with him, to hear what he had to say, and to 
answer him as she thought proper. And ‘being retired 
| together, he began to say to her, ‘‘ Alas, my life, my soul, 
‘the sweet end of all my wishes! do not you know your 





128 THE DECAMERON 


Ricciardo, who loves you more than. himself? .How 
can this be? Am I so altered, my jewel? ..Look upon 
me a little.” She began to laugh, and, without letting 
him proceed farther, said, “I am. not. so. forgetful, 
you are very sensible, not to know that you are Ricciardo 
de Chinzica, my husband; but during ,the ;time I was 
with you, it very ill appeared that you had any. know- 
ledge of me;. for were you really as wise as you would be 
thought, you must haye perceived that Iwas. young and 
lively, and consequently not to be imposed. upon by the 
mere form of matrimony, but if you prefer the study of the 
laws, you ought never to have married: though, in truth, 
you seem rather a proclaimer of feasts and fasts, than. a 
judge; yet, let me tell you, should you allow your labourers 
in the field as many holidays as you take yourself at home, 
you would never reap one grain of:corn. I have met with. 
a person whom I like very well, who. keeps none of your 
Fridays and Saturdays, nor your feasts, vigils, and long 
Lents; him, therefore, I intend to abide with while my 
youth continues, and to let the. fasting part alone till I 
grow old. Therefore you may go about your business, and. 
keep as many of those days without me as.you please.” He 
was exceedingly troubled at this, and said, after she had 
done speaking, “ My dear love, what words are these that I 
hear come from you? Have you no regard for your parents’ 
honour, and your own?. Had you rather abide here in a 
mortal sin, as this man’s harlot, than at Pisa as my wife? 
He will soon grow weary of you, and turn you off with 
great contempt; but I shall always love you,.and when I 
die, leave you mistress of my house... Can an inordinate 
and shameful appetite make you careless of your honour, 
and of me, who love you more. than my own life? Do not. 
say so, my dearest! .. Go along with me; now I know what. 
the grievance is, I will endeavour to redress it; my.joy! my 
treasure! change your mind, and depart with me, for I have, 
never known a happy day since you were taken from me.” 

—‘‘Sir,” she replied, ‘‘I.desire nobody to be careful of my. 
honour but myself; my parents should have had regard. to 
that when they made me your wife, and if they. were Care- 
léss of me at that time. why should I now, be mindful of, 


SECOND DAY 124 


them? And as for my living in a mortal sin, never trouble 
your head about that: I am here considered as Paganino’s 
wife, but I lived at Pisa rather like a mistress to you; there 
was so much to do between us with respect to the times of 
the moon, the quadratures and conjunctions of the planets ; 
whereas here we mind no such thing. , But you sav you will 
strive to do better. it is impossible, our complexions are so 
widely different. Go home, therefore, and try to keep your- 
self alive, for that is as much as you are able to do: and as 
for his discarding me, should that ever happen (which at 
present seems far from his thoughts), I will never return to 
you; for the world will afford me some resting-place or 
other. In the meantime, I tell you once more, that here 
we have no feasts and fasts, and here I intend to stay: 
therefore either go directly about your business, or I will 
call out that you design to force me.” The judge was now 
in a sad perplexity; and being thoroughly sensible of his 
folly in marrying so young a person, he left the room, and 
had some talk with Paganino, which signified nothing ; in 
the end, therefore, he was forced to leave his wife, and he 
returned to Pisa, where he ran raving about the streets, 
making no answer to any friend that accosted him, except 
that his,strumpet would keep no holidays; and soon after- 
wards he died. Which news came no sooner to the ears 
of Paganino, but he married her out of respect to the 
love she had for him; and they lived happily together, 
banishing all fasts, Lents, and such things from their 
houses. Wherefore, it seems plain to me, my dear ladies, 
that Bernard quite mistook the cause in his dispute with 
Ambrose. 

This story made them laugh till their sides ached, and all 
agreed that Dioneus was in the right, and that Bernard was 
a monster. But the queen now considering that it grew late, 
and that they had all finished their stories, and her govern- 
ment was at an end, according to their agreement at the 
beginning, she took the garland from her own head, and 
put it upon Neiphile, saying pleasantly to her, ‘‘ Hereafter 
‘the government of this little people be yours: ” and she sat 
down. Neiphile, blushing at the favour done her, appeared 

ite a rose in April, with her eyes, though a little cast down, 
: E 
| 


120 THE DECAMERON 


sparkling like the morning star. After the murmur of the 
company was a little abated, applauding the choice, and she 
bad resumed her courage, she spoke to this effect :—“ As I 
am now your queen, I shall keep to the method which has 
been hitherto observed, and which you have approved of by 
your concurrence, and tell you in a few words what I would 
farther have done. You all know that to-morrow will be 
Friday and the next day Saturday, both of which are incon- 
venient days, on account of laying in provisions. Moreover, 
Friday is a day to be reverenced, on account of our Saviour’s 
passion: therefore I hold it fit that'we rather pray that day, 
than attend to novels. Now concerning Saturday, it is 
usual to make everything clean on that day: many people 
also observe it as a fast, in honour of the holy Virgin, as well 
as the ensuing Sabbath, whereon no labour may be done. 
Wherefore, as we cannot go on exactly in the same manner 
as we first began, I hold it best to suspend the relation of 
any more novels: and as.we shall then have been here four 
days, except we would admit of some new guests, who might 
probably come to us, it will be convenient to go to another 
place, which I have already fixed upon, and where I have 
made provision for you. On Sunday evening, when we 
shall be there assembled, let our next argument still be the 
mutability of fortune, which I intend shall be as follows: 
namely, of such persons as have acquired, by their diligence, 
something greatly wanted by them, or else recovered what 
they had lost. Let every one think of something to say 
upon this subject which may be useful, or at least entertain- 
ing ; savirig always his privilege to Dioneus.” They all 
commended what the queen had ordered, and agreed it 
should be done: she afterwards called the master of the 
household, to give directions for that night’s entertainment, 
and ‘for what else was necessary during her royalty: which 
being over, she gave the company leave to go wherever they 
pleased. They took a walk therefore into the garden, where 
they amused themselves till supper-time : and having supped 
with great cheerfulness and mirth, and being risen from 
table, Emilia began a dance by the queen’s command’ 
whilst the following song was sung by Pampinea, the rest 
joining in a chorus. 


SECOND DAY ee 


SONG 


I 


Of all I want or wish possest ; 
Which of us here should sing but I? 

Come, gentle Cupid, heavenly guest, 
The constant source of all my joy. 


Il 


And teach my late desponding lyre 
No more in plaintive notes to mourn, 

But mirth and am’rous joy inspire, 
Whilst in your pleasing flames I burn, 


Ill 


You first before my eyes have plac’d 
An ardent lover gay and young: 

With every manly virtue grac’d, 
And soft persuasion on his tongue. 


IV 


But what crowns all my hope is this, 
Our hearts and wishes fondly join ; 

That mutual and the same our bliss, 
His love’s sincere and fixed as mine. 


Vv 


Cupid, ’tis to your gift I owe 
That in this world I’m amply blest ; 
_. May Heaven, in whom I trust, bestow, 
%W that to come, eternal rest ! 


They sung many other songs also, and led up several 
more dances, playing divers kinds of music: but the queen 
judging that it was now time to go to bed, they went, with 
a light before them, to their respective chambers, bestow- 
ing the two following days in the manner which she had 
before prescribed to them; and waiting with impatience 
‘for Sunday. 


THE THIRD DAY 


THE rising sun had now changed the complexion of the 
morning from scarlet to yellow, when the queen arose, on 
Sunday, and had all her company called up; whilst the 
master of the household had sent, long before, many things 
that were necessary, as also people to order what should be 
done: and seeing the queen now upon the march, he had 
everything else packed up, and removed bag and baggage ; 
the company of ladies and gentlemen following behind. 
The queen marched on with an easy pace, attended by her 
ladies and the three gentlemen, and conducted by the 
music of nightingales and other tuneful birds, along a path 
not much frequented, but enamelled with various flowers, 
which began to open their bosoms to the ascending sun; 
and, directing their course full’ west, chatting merrily with 
her company all the way, in a little more than two miles 
she brought them to a most beautiful palace, seated upon 
an eminence in the middle of a large plain. When they 
were entered therein, and had seen the great hall and 
the chambers, most elegantly fitted up, and furnished with 
everything that was proper, they greatly extolled it, judging 
its lord to be truly a magnificent person. Going afterwards 
below stairs, and observing its spacious and pleasant court, 
the cellars stored with the richest wines, and delicate 
springs of water everywhere running, they commended it 
yet more. From thence they went to rest themselves in an 
open gallery (which overlooked the court) set out with 
ali the flowers of the season; whither the master of the 
household brought wine and sweetmeats for their refresh- 
ment. | | 

They were now shown into the garden, which was on one 


side of the palace, and walled round about; which seemed 
132 


THIRD DAY 133 


so full of beauties at their first entrance, that they were 
more attentive in viewing every part. All round and 
through the midst of it were large straight walks covered 
with vines, which seemed to promise a plenteous vintage; 
and being all in blossom, they gave so delicious a scent, 
joined with other flowers then blowing in the garden, that 
they thought themselves amongst the spiceries of the east. 
The sides of these walks were closed with white and red roses 
and jessamine, in such a manner, as to exclude the morn- 
ing, and even the midday sun. What variety of plants and 
how elegantly disposed,,it would be needless to mention, 
since there was nothing belonging to. our climate which was 
mot there in great abundance. In the middle of this 
garden, what seemed more delightful than anything else, 
was a plot of ground like a meadow; the grass of a deep 
green, spangled with a thousand different flowers, and set 
round with orange and cedar trees, whose branches were 
stored with ripe fruit and blossoms, at the same time 
affording a most pleasing object to the eye, as well as a 
grateful odour to the smell. In the centre of this meadow 
was a fountain of white marble, beautifully carved; and 
(whether by a natural or artificial spring, I know not) trom 
a figure standing on a column in the midst of the fountain, a 
jet of water spouted up, which made a most agreeable 
sound in its fall; the water which came from thence ran 
through the meadow by a secret passage; when, being 
received into canals, it appeared again, and was carried 
to every part of the garden, uniting In one stream at its 
going out, and falling with such force into the plain, as to 
turn two mills before it got thither. The sight of this 
garden, its form and contrivance, with the fountains and the 
springs proceeding from it, pleased the gentlemen and 
ladies so much, that they spared not to say, if there\was 
a paradise on earth, 1t could be in no other form, nor was 
it possible to add anything toit. Whilst they were walking 
about, therefore, diverting themselves with weaving chaplets 
of flowers, and listening to the various melody of the birds, 
who seemed to vie with each other, a new beauty pre- 
sented itself to them, which they had before taken no 
notice of; namely, they perceived the garden to be full of a 


(34 THE DECAMERON 


hundred different creatures: in one place they saw rabbits 
issuing forth ; from another quarter they saw hares: here 
were goats lying down, and there were deer grazing, with 
many others passing backwards and forwards at their 
pleasure, as though they were tame. When their senses 
had sufficiently feasted on these several beauties, the table 
was spread by the side of the fountain, and, after half-a- 
dozen songs and some dances, they sat down to eat, being 
served in a sumptuous manner with everything that was 
nice and elegant ; and when they had done feasting, they 
began again to sing and dance, till the queen commanded 
them to give over, and permitted such as were so dis- 
posed to take their ease. Accordingly some departed ; and 
others, charmed with the pleasantness of the place, stayed 
to read or piay at chess. At nine they arose, and went 
into the meadow to the fountain side, and being seated 
there as usual, they waited for the time when’ they should 
begin their novels upon jthe subject which the queen had 
proposed ; the first who was ordered to speak was Philo- 
stratus, who then addressed them. 


NOVEL 1 


Masetto da Lamporecchio, pretending to be dumb, ts taken in to be gardener 
to a monastery of nuns; what happens in consequence. 


THERE are many people so simple as to imagine, that, after 
a young lady puts on the veil, she is no longer subject to 
the passions of other women; as if by becoming a nun she 
were converted into stone: and if they hear anything con- 
trary to this opinion, are as much offended as though some 
very heinous and unnatural crime were committed; never 
thinking of themselves, who cannot be satisfied, although 
they have the liberty of doing as they will; nor considering 
the prevalency of leisure and solitude. In like manner, 
there are others who think that the spade and pickaxe, 
with hard. labour and gross feeding, quench all lustful 
appetites, depriving the people of all sense and understand- 
ing ; but how much they are both mistaken, I shall, at the 


THIRD DAY 135 


queen’s command, now show you, keeping close | to the’ 
subject which she has given us. 

There was formerly in our neighbourhood (and may be 
still) a monastery of nuns, famous for their sanctity (which 
shall be nameless, because I would not lessen their char- 
acters), in which were only eight young ladies with an 
abbess ; there was also a gardener to look after the garden, 
who not being satisfied with his salary, made up his accounts 
with their steward, and returned to Lamporecchio, from 
whence he came. Amongst many others who were to 
welcome him home was a young fellow called Masetto, 
who inquired of him where he had been all that time? 
The honest man (whose name was Nuto) told him. The 
other inquired again in what capacity he served the monas- 
tery? When he replied, ‘‘I had the care of the garden, 
and used to go to the wood for faggots; I drew water for 
them also, with such-like services; but my wages were so 
small that they would scarcely find me shoes ; and besides 
they are all so young and giddy, that I could do nothing 
to please them ; for when I have been in the garden, one 
would cry do this, and another do that, and a third would 
take the spade out of my hand, and tek, me that thing is in 
a wrong place, and they have given me so much trouble 
altogether, that I have left them; though the steward 
desired, at my departure, that if I met with a proper person, 
to send him; but let me be hanged if I do.” When 
Masetto heard this, he had a great desire to be amongst 
them, supposing, by what Nuto had said, that he might be 
able to gain his ends, and that it might be moretdifficult if 
he let the other into the secret. Therefore he said to him, 
‘“You do very right to come away: what has a man to do 
among so many women? He might as well de with as 
many devils: for it is not once in ten times they know 
what they would be at.” After they had done talking 
together, Masetto began to contrive what method he should 
take to get introduced; and being assured that he could 
do all the work that Nuto had mentioned, he had no fears 
upon that account: all the danger seemed rather in his 
youth and person; whether for that reason ne might not 
be rejected. After much reflection, he reasoned thus with 


136 THE DECAMERON 


himself: “I live far enough off, and nobody knows me: 
suppose I feign myself dumb, they will certainly receive 
me then.” Resolved on this, without saying a word where 
he was going, he took an axe upon his shoulder, and went 
like a poor man to the monastery; and finding the steward 
in the monastery court, he made signs like a dumb person 
for a little bread, and that he would cleave wood if they — 
had any occasion. The steward gave him something to 
eat, and afterwards showed him divers pieces of wood, 
which Nuto was not able to rend, but which he, in a little 
time (being very strong) split all t6 pieces. The steward, 
having occasion to go to the wood, took him along with 
him; where, making him fell several trees, by signs he made 
him load the ass with them, and drive him home before 
him: this he did very well; and the steward wanting him 
for other things, he continued there for several days, till at 
length the abbess saw him, who asked the steward what 
the man did there? ‘‘ Madam,” he replied, ‘‘thisis a poor 
man, deaf and dumb, who came the other day to ask 
charity, which I gave him, and he has done many things 
for us since: I believe, if he knows anything of a garden, 
and could be prevailed upon to stay, that he might be of 
good service, for we want such a person, and he is strong, 
and will do what work we please: besides, there will be no 
fear of his seducing any of the young ladies.”—‘“‘ Why, 
truly,” quoth the abbess, ‘‘you say right: do you see if 
he knows how to work, and try to keep him; and make 
much of him, giving him a pair of shoes, and an old coat, 
and let His belly be filled with victuals.” Which the 
steward promised to do. Masetto, who was at no great 
distance, but seemed busy in sweeping the court, heard all 
this, and said merrily to himself, “Yes, if you let me stay 
here? T’ll do your business, with a witness.” Now the 
steward perceiving that he knew how to work, inquired of 
him by signs whether he was willing to stay ; and the other 
made him to understand that he was willing; therefore, 
taking him into the garden, he showed him what he wished 
to have done, and went about other business relating to 
the monastery. Now the nuns used to come every day 
to tease and laugh at him. saying anything before him, 


Lv Say 


THIRD DAY £37 


imagining that he heard them not. Which the abbess 
took no notice of, not apprehending the least danger ; 
and one day being laid down to rest himself, two nuns, 
who were walking in the garden, came to the place where 
he pretended to be asleep: and as they stood»looking upon 
him, one, who was a little more forward than the other, said, 
“Could I be assured of your secrecy, I would tell you of « 
thought I have often had in my head, which might be of 
service to yourself.” Said the other, ‘‘You may speak 
safely, for I never will disclose it.” When the first nun 
began in this manner: \‘‘ We are kept here in strict confine- 
ment, and not a man suffered to come near us, but our 
steward, who is old, and this dumb man: ' wherefore I 
have often had a mind to gratify a certain curiosity with 
this fellow; for he is the fittest in the world for our 
purpose, being such an idiot, that he cannot expose us if 
he would: what is your opinion?” “Alas!” quoth the 
other, “what is that you say? Wo not you know that we 
have promised our virginity to God?” ‘Oh! but sister,” 
she replied, ““how many things do we promise every day, 
which we never perform? If we have promised, there 
will be others found that shall be mor’ punctual.” ‘ But,” 
said the other lady, “if we should be with child, what 
would become of us then?” She replied, ‘‘ You think of 
the worst before it happens: it will be time enough then to 
talk of that; there are a thousand ways of managing in such 
a case, that nobody will ever be the wiser, unless we our- 
selves make the discovery.” She was now prevailed upon, 
and said to her friend, “How shall ‘we contrive this 
matter?” The other replied, “You see it is about nine 
o’clock, and I believe our sisters are all asleep ; let us look 
round the garden, and if nobody be in it, what have we to 
do, but for one of us to lead him into yonder arbour, ‘whilst 
the other keeps watch?” This'was done accordingly, and 
they used to serve one another in the same manner, till at 
length they were discovered by the other nuns, who all 
took the same liberty: and last of all the lady abbess 
herself, excited by the same curiosity, had him conveyed 
into her chamber, and kept him there several days; till 
having satisfied his inclinations, he now resolved to depart. 
Bee 


\ a 


138 THE DECAMERON 


One night, therefore, he broke his long silence, ar.d ac- 
quainted her with his intentions of going away. She was 
in the utmost astonishment to hear him speak, and said, 
‘‘ What is the meaning of this? I thought you had been 
dumb.”—‘“ Madam,” replied he, “so I was, but not natu- 
rally; I had a long disorder, which deprived me of my 
speech, and which was restored to me but this night, for © 
which I am very thankful.”—The lady was too prudent to 
let him depart, for fear of his scandalising the monastery ; 
and in some little time, the steward happening to die, he 
was appointed to succeed him: and the people were made 
to believe that their prayers, together with the merits of 
the saint to whom the monastery was dedicated, had 
effected this miracle. The affair was carried on so pri- 
vately afterwards among them, that there was no suspicion 
of that sort till after the death of the abbess, when Masetto, 
being now in years, and wealthy, was desirous of going 
home: and their manner of living being no longer a 
secret, his desire was the more readily complied with. 
Thus, taking no care of his children, but bequeathing 
them to the place where they were bred and born, he 
returned to his native country, having taken such advantage 
of his youth, as amply to provide for the ease of his old 
age. 


NOVEL II 


An equerry belonging to King Agilulf lies with his queen: of which the 
king maping a secret discovery, set a mark upon him by shearing 
the hair off his head: upon which he who was so shorn, cut that of 
his fellow-servants in like manner, and so escaped further punish- 
ment. 


PHILOSTRATUS having concluded his novel, which made 
the ladies sometimes blush and sometimes smile, the queen 
ordered Pampinea to follow, who began pleasantly in this 
manner :—There are some people so indiscreet in appear- 
ing to know what they had better be unacquainted with, 
that they think, by reproving other people’s inadvertencies, 
to lessen their own shame; whereas they make that vastly 
greater. This I shall show to be true, by its contrary ; 


‘IRD DAY 139 


setting forth the c1 ich a certain fellow (of no more 
account than Mase!'«) made use of to outwit a very wise 
and worthy prince. ~.ilulf, king of Lombardy, fixed the 
seat of his kingdom, «s his predecessors had done, at 


Pavia; having taken wife Teudelinga, late queen of 
Vetari, who was king of Lombardy likewise ; a beautiful 
and most virtuous lady, but unhappy in having a lover. 
The affairs of the kingdom being now in a prosperous way, 
by the good management of King Agilulf, it happened that 
one of the queen’s equerries (a man of low extraction, 
though in other respects, far above the station wherein he 
was placed ; comely and also graceful in his person as the 
king himself) fell immoderately in love with her. His low 
rank did not prevent his seeing the inconvenience with 
which this passion might be attended; therefore he was 
so wise as to make discovery of it to no one; not even so 
much as, by his looks, to herself. And though he lived 
without the least hopes of ever attaining his desire, yet he 
could not help glorying in having fixed his affections so 
high; and being entirely captivated, he took more than 
ordinary care (far beyond the rest of his fellow-servants) to 
do everything that he thought would piease her. Whence 
it happened, that if she had a mind to ride out at any time, 
she oftener rode the horse that he had the care of than 
any other; which he esteemed a singular favour, never 
stirring from the stirrup; and could he but touch her 
clothes, he was then the happiest man in the world. But 
as we often see that love most violent where there is the 
least probability of success, so it happened to this groom; 
for his passion was such, he being without the least hope 
whatever, that he often resolved, as he was unable to dis- 
close it, to die. Considering in what manner, he resolved 
at length that it should be done in a way to convince ‘her 
that it was for her sake: yet he was willing first to try his 
fortune, if it were possible, to obtain his desire, not by 
speaking, or even writing to her, to make her sensible of 


_ his love (for he knew both were to no purpose), but choos- 


ing rather to do it by stratagem; which was some way or 
other to personate the king, and so to get admittance into 
ber chamber. 


£40 THE DECAMERON 


In order then to see what dress and manner his Majesty 
used to go to the queen, he hid himself often in the night 
in a great room in the palace, that was between the king’s 
apartment and that of the queen; and one night he saw 
the king come out of his chamber, wrapped in a large 
mantle, with a lighted torch in one hand, and a wand in 
the other, and go to the queen’s lodging-room, when, with- ‘ 
out speaking a word, he would knock two or three times 
at the door with his stick, and it was immediately opened, 
and the torch taken out of his hand; which being observed 
by him, and seeing the king returf in like manner, he de- 
termined to do the same. Accordingly, he procured such 
a mantle as that of the king, with a torch and wand; and 
having first washed himself very clean, that the smell of 
the stables might not make a discovery to the queen of 
what he was, he hid himself as usual till every one was 
asleep, which he thought a fit time either to succeed in 
his desires, or to bring’ upon himself, by a most daring 
cause, that death he had long wished for. Therefore he 
struck a light, with which he kindled his torch, and folding 
himself well in the mantle, he went to the door, rapping 
twice with his stick. The door was immediately opened 
by a damsel half asleep, who took the light out of his hand, 
and set it in a corner of the room, while he stripped off 
his mantle, and got into the queen’s bed. ‘There he had the 
full gratification of his wishes, without a word being spoken 
on either side (for he knew the king’s temper at certain 
times, and especially when he was disturbed, was such, 
that he would neither speak himself nor be spoken to) ; 
and having stayed as long as he thought it was safe to 
stay, he took his mantle and torch, and stole softly to his 
own bed. He was scarcely got therein, before the king 
came to the queen’s chamber, at which she was much 
surprised, and had the boldness then to say to him, “ My 
lord, what is the meaning of your returning so quickly? 
It is but this moment that you left me, and then you 
stayed longer than usual.” The king, at hearing this, con: 
cluded that she had been imposed upon by somebody or 
other, who had assumed his person and manner: but, like 
a wise man, when he found that she was entirely ignorant_ 


THIRD DAY 141 


of it, as well as every one else, he resolved that she should 
continue so: not like a great many simple people, who 
would have been apt to say, “I never was with you to. 
night before: who was it that was here? How did he 
come? In what manner did he go away?” All which 
must have given the lady great uneasiness, and the thing 
would have been,in every one’s mouth: whereas by his 
discreet silence, he avoided both the one and the other. 
Seeming then more at ease in his looks and talk, than he 
was really in his mind: he said to her, ‘‘And is my 
coming again to you, so soon, disagreeable? however, I 
will leave you for to-night.” Being now highly incensed 
against the villain that dared presume to do him that 
injury, he left the room, resolving to find him out if it 
were possible ; for he concluded he must be in the house, 
as there seemed no way for him to have got out. Taking 
a small light therefore in a lantern, he went into a long 
chamber in his palace, which was over the stables, where 
all his family lay in different beds: and supposing, who- 
ever he was, that he should find a difference in the beating 
of his heart and pulse, he began to examine them all from 
one end to the other. They were every one asleep, except 
that person who had been with the queen, who seeing the 
king come into the room, and supposing what the occasion 
was, thought it best to counterfeit sleep, and to see what 
he meant to do. His Majesty had now laid his hand upon 
many of them without finding cause to suspect any one, 
till coming to that person, he immediately said to himself, 
“This is the man.” Being desirous that nobody should 
know anything of his designs, he at present did nothing 
more but just cut off, with a pair of scissors that he had 
in his pocket, a part of his hair, which they wore very long 
at that time, in order to know him again the next morning ; 
and so returned directly to his chamber. The man was 
wise enough to know what was the intent of this; therefore, 
without delay, he took a pair of scissors which they used 
for their horses, and clipping all the people’s hair above 
their ears in like manner, went to bed again without being 
_ perceived by any one. In the morning the king arose, and 

ordered, before the palace gates were opened, that his 


142 THE DECAMERON 


whole family should come before him, which accordingly 
they did, standing with their heads uncovered; when he 
began to view them one after another, to find out the 
person whom he had marked; and perceiving that many 
of them had their hair cut alike, he began to wonder, and 
said to himself, ‘This fellow, though he be of low condi- 
tion, is of no common understanding.”» Therefore, seeing 
that he could in no way find out the person, without mak- 
ing a great stir and noise; and unwilling also to incur a 
shame of that sort, for the sake of a little revenge, he 
thought it best to let the person know, by a word or two, 
that he was observed, and to admonish him for the future. 
Then turning to them all, he said, “Whoever he is, let. 
him do so no more; and all go about your business.”/ 
Another person would have put them to the rack, to find 
out what would be much better concealed, and which, 
when discovered, what revenge soever was taken, would, 
instead of lessening, have enhanced the disgrace, and 
brought dishonour upon the lady. They all wondered at 
hearing the king’s words, and asking one another what 
could be the meaning of them; but nobody was wise 
pnough to understand them, except the man aimed at; 
who kept it to himself as long as the king lived, never 
daring to run the like risk any more. 


NOVEL III 


A lady, under pretence of confessing, and a pure conscience, being in 
love with a young gentleman, makes a sanctified friar bring them 
together, without his knowing anything of her intention. 


Tur boldness and great subtlety of the groom were as 
much commended as the king’s extraordinary discretion ; 
when the queen, turning to Philomena, bade her follow, 
who began pleasantly in this manner :— 

I design to acquaint you with a trick, that a certain lady 
put upon a friar, which will be so much more agreeable to 
us lay-people, as they are a set of folks who think them- 
selves both better and wiser than other people; whereas, 


THIRD DAY 143 


it is bigte otherwise, they being for the most part such 
persons as are unable to raise themselves in the world, and 
therefore take shelter in places where they may be main 
tained in laziness and luxury. This then I shall do, not 
so much out of compliance with the order enjoined me, as 
to show you, that even the religious themselves, to whom 
we over-credulous women yield too implicit a faith, may 
be, and often are, tricked and imposed on, not by the men 
only, but even by us. 

In our city (more full of craft and deceit, than friendship 
and faithful dealing) there lived not long since a lady whose 
beauty and good behaviour made her equal to most of her 
sex: her name, as well as that of every other person con- 
cerned in this novel, I shall beg leave to conceal, out of 
regard to some persons that might be offended, who may 
now pass it over with a smile: this lady, I say, knowing 
herself to be nobly descended, and being married to a 
tradesman, who was a clothier, she could by no means 
bring down her spirit, which made her deem a man of that 
rank, however rich he was, as unworthy of a gentlewoman: 
and observing that he had not the least understanding in 
anything out of his own business, she determined not to 
admit of his embraces any farther than she was obliged, but 
to make choice of a gallant that should be more worthy 
of her. Accordingly she fell in love with a gentleman, of 
suitable years, to that degree, that unless she saw him every 
day, she could get no rest at night. But he, knowing 
nothing of the matter, had not the least regard to her; 
whilst she was so cautious that she would neither trust to 
letters nor messages for fear of danger; and knowing that 
he was much acquainted with a certain friar, one of a gross 
person, yet esteemed by all as a very religious man, she 
judged that he would be the fittest agent to go between 
her and her lover. After thinking which would be the 
properest method to take, she went one day to that church 
to which he belonged, and having called him aside, she 
told him, that, when he was at leisure, she had a mind to 
confess. 

The friar, seeing her to be a person of distinction, imme- 
diately gave leave, and when that was over, she said, “I 


144 THE DECAMERON 


‘ 
am come to you, father, for your advice. and assistance 

[ have informed you of my relations and my husband, who 
loves me more than his own life, and who, as he is very 
rich, obliges me in everything that I ask for; for which 
reason I love him more than I do myself; but, setting 
apart what I would do for him, were I capable of so much 
as harbouring a thought which should be contrary to his 
nonour and will, I should judge.no woman more deserving 
of death than myself. Now there is a person whose name 
i am a stranger to, but who seems to be of some figure, 
and, if I mistake not, an acquaintance of yours, a well- 
looking man, with brown clothes ; who, being unacquainted, 
perhaps, with my upright intentions, seems to lay constant 
wait for me; nor can [| stir out of door, or so much as to 
the window, but he is always there: I wonder he is not 
after me now: which gives me infinite concern, because 
such things often bring scandal upon us. Sometimes I 
have thoughts of letting my brothers know; but then j 
consider that men frequently deliver messages in such a 
manner, that words ensue, and from words, blows: there- 
fore, to prevent both scandal and mischief, I have hitherto 
held my tongue, reso}ving to acquaint you, rather than any 
other person, both because you are his friend, and as it is 
your duty to correct such abuses, not only in friends, but 
also in strangers. I entreat you then, for God’s sake, that 
you would exhort him to leave off those ways; there are: 
other ladies enough, who may be of that stamp, and would 
be proud of a gallant; but I am another sort of person, 
and such a thing gives me the greatest uneasiness.” Hay- 
ing said this, she hung down her head, as if she was going 
to weep. The holy father immediately understood who the 
person she meant was ; and having commended her for her 
good disposition, believing it was all true that she said, he 
promised to take care that she should have no more dis- 
turbance of that kind; and knowing her to be rich, recom- 
mended works of charity, and alms-giving to her, mention- 
ing his own particular necessities. The lady then said, ‘1 
beg of you, sir, if he should deny it, to tell him without 
any scruple, that I informed you myself, and am very uneasy 
about it.” Having now confessed, and remembering what 


THIRD DAY x45 


_he had told her concerning charity, she put a sum of money 
into his hand, desiring he would say mass for the souls of © 
her deceased friends ; and rising from his feet, she departed 
to her own house. In some little time, the gentleman 
came, according to custom, to the friar; who, after talking 
awhile to him upon indifferent matters, took him aside, 
and reproved him in a gentle manner, for his design upon 
the lady: he was much surprised, having never taken any 
notice of her, and but seldom passed by the house, and 
would have excused himself, but the other would not suffer 
him; and said, “‘ Never pretend to be surprised, nor spend 
your breath in denying it, for it is to no manner of pur- 
pose: this is no common report, she herself told me; such 
behaviour is very unbecoming in you: and, let me tell you, 
if there is 2 woman in the world averse to such follies, it is 
she: therefore, for her comfort, and your credit, I exhort 
you to refrain, and let her live in quiet.” The gentleman, 
more quick of apprehension than the friar, easily took the 
lady’s meaning; and seeming to be out of countenance, 
promised to concern himself with her no more: accord- 
ingly, he took his leave, and went directly towards the 
lady’s house, who was generally looking out for him at 
the window, and who now appeared so gracious and well 
pleased at the sight of him, that he found himself not 
mistaken: and from that time he used frequently to pass 
that way, under the pretence of other business, to her great 
satisfaction. 

In some time, when the lady perceived that she was as 
agreeable to him, as he had been to her, and being willing 
to give him some further proofs of her affection, she re- 
turned to the friar, and throwing herself at his feet in the 
church, she began to lament most grievously. He seeing 
this, asked, with a great deal of concern, what new accident 
had happened? When she replied, “It is only that cursed 
friend of yours, whom I complained to you of the other 
day : I think in my conscience, he is born to be a perpetual 
plague to me, and to make me do what I should never 
think of otherwise; nor shall I ever dare afterwards to lay 
myself at your feet.”—-‘‘ What,” said the friar, “and does 
he continue still to give you trouble? ”-——“ Indeed, sir,” 


oo 146 THE DECAMERON 
A ech she, “since I have made my complaint to you, he 
seems to do it out of mere spite; and for once that he 
| used to come this way before, he now passes at least seven 
times. And would to God those walks and wanton gazes 
i ~ would content him ; for he is now grown so audacious and 
~ impudent, that no longer since than yesterday, he sent a 
_ woman to my house with his nonsense; and, as if I had 
_ wanted purses and girdles, he sent me a purse and girdle; 
at which I was, and am still, so much offended, that, had 
not the fear of God, and regard to you, prevented me, I 
\had certainly done some wicked thing or other. But I 
eat | kept my temper, nor would I do or say anything, till I had 
_ first made you acquainted. Moreover, having returned 
those things to the woman that brought them, with the 
intent that she should carry them back; and after giving 
her an angry farewell, fearing afterwards lest she might 
_ keep them herself, and tell him I had received them, as 
I am told those people often do, I called her back, and 
took them out of her hand in great rage; and have now 
brought them to you, that you may give them to him 
again, and tell him, that I want nothing that belongs to 
him ; for, thank God and my husband, I have purses and 
girdles enough. Therefore, good father, I now tell you, 
that if he does not desist, I will immediately acquaint my 
husband and my brothers ; ; for, happen what will, I had 
much rather that he should suffer, if it must be so, than 
that I myself should bear any blame on his account.” 
Having said this, she took a rich purse and girdle from 
under her gown, shedding abundance of tears, and threw 
_ them into the friar’s lap: who, believing all she had told 
him, was disturbed beyond measure, and said, “I do not 
_ wonder, daughter, that you make yourself uneasy for these 
_ things, nor can I blame you; but I much commend you 
for following my instructions. I reproved him the other 
_ day, and he has ill performed what he promised: however, 
I will give him such a reprimand for what he has done 
_ before, and now also, that he shall be no more a plague 
to you; for Heaven's sake, then do not suffer yourself to 
be hurried away by passion, so as to tell any one; because 
it may be of bad consequence. Never fear any blame to 











THIRD DAY 147 


yourself, for I will bear testimony of your virtue both to 
God and man.” 

The lady seemed now to be a little comforted; and 
leaving this discourse, as well knowing the avarice of him 
and his brethren, she said, ‘‘ Holy father, for some nights 
past, many of my relations, have appeared to me in a 
vision, demanding alms ; especially my mother, who seemed 
to be in such affliction, that it was terrible to behold: I 
believe it is her concern to see me in all this trouble, 
through this most wicked fellow; therefore I desire, for 
the sake of their souls, that you would say the forty masses 
of St. Gregory, that God may deliver them from that fiery 
penance;” and having said this, she put into his hand a 
florin of gold. The holy father received it very cheer- 
fully, confirming her devotion by good words and divers 
examples, and, having given her his blessing, let her depart. 
When she was gone, never thinking how he was imposed 
upon, he sent for his friend ; who, finding him a little out 
of temper, supposed he had been discoursing with the lady, 
and he waited to hear what he would say; who accordingly 
began with his former reproofs, chiding him severely for 
what the lady had now complained of, concerning his offered 
present. The honest gentleman, who as yet could not guess 
where all this tended, seemed faintly to deny his sending a 
purse and girdle, that he might not be entirely discredited 
by the good man, if it should have happened that the lady 
had given him any such thing: at which the friar, in a good 
deal of passion said, ‘‘ How can you deny it, you wicked 
man? Behold, here it is; she herself brought it me with 
tears: see if you know it again.” The gentleman appeared 
quite ashamed, and said, ‘‘ Yes, indeed I know it; I con- 
fess I have done very ill, and, I promise you, now I know 
her disposition, that you shall have no more complaints 
upon that score.” After many such words, the simple 
friar gave him the purse and girdle; and, exhorting him 
to do so no more, let him go about his business. The 
gentleman, now convinced of the lady’s goodwill towards 
him, and that this was her present, went overjoyed to a 
place where he might obtain the sight of her, and showed 
her both the purse and girdle, which gave her great satis: 


148 THE DECAMERON 


faction, as her scheme seemed now to take effect. As 
nothing was at present wanting to complete it but the 
husband’s absence, it fell out soon after, that he was 
obliged to go to Genoa; and no sooner had he mounted 
his horse, and was departed, but she went again to the 
holy man, and, after making great complaints and lamen- 
tations, she said, ‘‘Good father, I tell you plainly that I 
can no longer suffer this; but, as I promised to do 
nothing without first consulting you, I am come to excuse 
myself to you; and to convince you that I have great 
reason to be uneasy, I will tell you what your friend, that 
devil incarnate, did this very morning. I know not by 
what ill fortune he came to know that my husband went to 
Genoa yesterday, but so it is; this morning he came into 
my garden, and got upon a tree to my window, that looks 
into the garden; which he opened, and would: have come 
into the chamber, when I arose, and was beginning to cry 
out, and should have done so, had he not begged of me, 
for Heaven’s sake and yours, to be merciful; telling me 
who he was: upon which I ran and shut the window. 
Now judge you if these things are to be endured; it is 
upon your account only, that I have suffered them so 
long.” The friar was the most uneasy man in the world at 
hearing this: ‘‘ And are you sure,” said he, “that it was 
that person, and no other?” “Bless me!” quoth she, 
“do you think I could be so mistaken? I tell you it 
was he; and if he should deny it, don’t believe him.” 
“ Daughter,” quoth the friar, ‘‘I can say no more than 
it was a most vile, audacious action, and you have done 
your duty: but I beg of you, as God has preserved you 
hitherto from dishonour, and you have followed my advice 
twice before, that you would do so now: leave it then 
to me, without saying a word to any of your relations, and 
see if I cannot manage this devil unchained, whom I 
always took for a saint. If I can reclaim him from this 
lewdness, it will be well; if not, along with my benediction, 
I shall give you leave to do as you shall think most 
proper.” ‘‘For this once, then,” quoth she, “I will give 
no trouble; but do you take care that he be not offensive 
for the time to come, for I promise you to come no more 


THIRD DAY 149 


upon this account ;” and, without more words, she went 
away, seemingly very uneasy.’ She was scarcely got out of 
the church, but in came the gentleman, when he took him 
aside, using all the opprobrious language that could be 
used to a man, calling him both villain and traitor; whilst 
he who had undergone these rebukes twice before, stood in 
great perplexity, waiting for him to speak first; but at last 
he said, ‘‘Why, what have I done to deserve this treat- 
ment?” When the friar replied, “ Mark the impudence of 
the fellow! he speaks neither better nor worse, than if 
these things had happened some years ago, and were now 
out of his mind. Pray, have you forgotten whom you 
injured this morning? Where were you a little before 
daybreak?” ‘That I cannot tell,” replied the other; 
‘but you soon heard of it, wherever I was.” ‘‘ You say 
right,” quoth he, “I did hear of it: I suppose you thought 
yourself sure, now the husband is from home. A very 
pretty fellow truly! he gets into people’s gardens in the 
night, and climbs up the walls by the help of the trees! 
You think, I suppose, that you shall be able to seduce the 
lady by your importunity, that you get up to the windows 
at nights in that manner. There is nothing she so much 
detests as yourself, and yet you will persist. Truly, you 
are much the better for what has been said to you; but i 
assure you, she has hitherto held her peace purely at my 
request, and not out of the least regard to you: but she 
will conceal it no longer: and I have now consented, if you 
give her any further disturbance, to let her take her own 
course. What would become of you, should she tell her 
brothers of it?” The honest man now perceived what he 
had to do, and, having quieted the friar with large promises, 
took his leave, and the following night got into the garden, 
and so up by the tree into the window, which was open, 
and where the lady stood expecting him. She received him 
with much joy, giving many thanks to the holy father for 
showing him the way; and from that time they had 
frequent opportunities of being together, without standing 
in any further need of such a mediator. 


150 THE DECAMERON 


NOVEL IV 


A young scholar, named Felix, teaches one Puccio how he may be saved, 
by performing a penance which he shows him: this he puts into 
execution ; and, in the meantime, Felix amuses himself with his 


wife. 


WHEN Philomena had finished her story, which was much 
commended by Dioneus, the queen, casting her eyes on 
Pamphilus, said: ‘Do you continue this amusement by 
some story that shall be agreeable.” He replied that he 
was very willing, and began thus :— 

Some people there are, who, whilst they endeavour to 
get to heaven themselves, inadvertently send others thither ; 
which was the case with a neighbour of ours, as you shall 
hear. Near to St. Brancazio, as I am informed, there lived 
an honest man, and one of good substance, whose name 
was Puccio di Rinieri, who, being spiritually minded, and 
having much converse with the Franciscans, was usually 
called Friar Puccio. This man, I say, regarding only his 
religious affairs, and having no family besides a wife and 
a maid-servant, used to be constantly at church, spending 
his whole time in saying his Pater Nosters, hearing 
sermons, and going to masses; and for fasting, and all 
kinds of holy discipline, he was as devout as the best. His 
wife, whose name was Isabella, a lady of about twenty- 
eight years of age, and as fresh as a rose, was sick of all 
this fasting, and would gladly have been at rest many times 
when he was recounting to her the holy life of our Lord, the 
preachings of Father Anastasius, and the lamentations of 
Mary Magdalen. Now at that time there returned from 
Paris a monk belonging to the convent of St. Brancazio, a 
comely young man, of good parts and learning, with whom 
our Puccio contracted an acquaintance; and being able to 
solve all his scruples, and appearing to be very religious, 
Friar Puccio would frequently invite him to his house, both 
to dine and sup, whilst his wife showed him great civility 
on her husband’s account. 

Coming often to the house in this manner, he soon cast 


THIRD DAY 151 


his eye upon Puccio’s wife, and as he perceived himself no 
way disagreeable to her, he took the first opportunity of 
making a discovery of his inclinations; but though he 
found her disposed to a compliance, he could in no way 
contrive the means, for she would go nowhere out of her 
own house, and there it could not be, for Puccio was never 
far from home, which threw him into a kind of despair. 
At last it came into his head how the thing might be 
carried on in the house without any suspicion, though the 
husband was there all the time; and being one day 
together, he spoke to Puccio in this manner: “I under- 
stand, brother Puccio, that all your desire is to become 
holy, but it seems to me as if you took quite a roundabout 
way, whilst there is a much shorter path, which the pope 
and the other great prelates know and follow, yet are 
unwilling it should be divulged, for the sake of the 
clergy, that live chiefly on the charities of the people, who 
then would have no further need to give them alms. Now 
as you are my friend, and have entertained me well at your 
house, if I thought you would tell no person, and would 
regard it, I should reveal it to you.” Puccio was extremely 
impatient to know the secret, swearing by all that was 
sacred, never to divulge it without his consent, and 
promising, if possible, to observe it. “As you make this 
promise,” quoth the other, “1 will tell you. You must 
understand then, that the holy doctors of the Church 
maintain that penance, in the manner I am going to lay 
down, is necessary to happiness. But take notice, I do not 
say that, after this penance, you will be no more capable of 
sinning. No; all the sins committed before that time shall 
be forgiven, and the sins afterwards shall not be numbered 
to your damnation; but you may wash them away with 
holy water, like other venial sins. A man then must begin 
this penance by a strict confession of all his sins; after 
which, fasting and abstinence are necessary for forty days ; 
during which space you must refrain even from your own 
wife. Besides this, you must have some place in your own 
house where you may look towards heaven all night long, 
Thither you are to go in the evening, where a table is to be 
fixed in such a manner that, as you stand upon your feet, 


152 THE DECAMERON 


the small of your back must lean upon it, whilst your arms 
are extended like a crucifix; and if you can make them 
reach to any peg of wood, it is so much the better. In 
this manner you are to gaze towards heaven, without. 
altering your posture till the morning ; and, if you had been 
a scholar, you should have repeated some prayers which I 
would have taught you; but as you are not, you must say 
three hundred Pater Nosters, with so many Ave Marias, 
in honour of the Trinity; and, fixing your eyes upon 
heaven, you are still to remember God, the Creator of 
heaven and earth, and to bear in mind Christ’s passion, 
standing in the manner that he was nailed to the cross; 
and, when the bell sounds in the morning, you may throw 
yourself upon your bed to sleep. You must afterwards go 
to church, and hear three masses at least, and say fifty 
Pater Nosters and the like number of Ave Marias; and 
when this is done, you may go fairly and honestly about 
any business you shall have to do; afterwards get your 
dinner, and be at church in the evening, where you must 
say a few prayers which I shall give you in writing, without 
which all would signify nothing, and in the evening return 
as before ; and if you follow this method, as I have formerly 
done, I hope, before the expiration of your penance, that 
you will perceive wonderful things of the eternal beatitudes; 
supposing, at the same time, that you are thoroughly 
devout.” Puccio then replied, ‘This is no such long and 
grievous affair, and, with God’s permission, I will begin 
next Sunday ;” and, taking his leave, he went and related 
the whole to his wife: she immediately understood what 
the meaning was of his standing in that place till the morn- 
ing, and made answer, “That she was satisfied with that, 
or anything else that he should do for the good of his 
soul; and, to render his penance more effectual, she meant 
to keep him company with fasting, but with nothing else.” 
So far they were agreed: and, when Sunday came, he 
entered upon his course, whilst: the monk came. every 
evening to sup with her, bringing with him plenty of meat 
and drink, and he stayed with her always till morning, 
when it was Puccio’s time to come to bed. Now the room 
that he had fixed upon for his penance was next to that 


THIRD DAY 153 


where the lady lay; and one night having just got through 
a hundred of his Pater Nosters, he thought he heard some- 
thing of a noise in the next room; and, making a full stop 
there, he called out to know what was the meaning of it. 
She made answer and said, laughing to herself, ‘‘ You 
know very well I can never sleep when I go to bed fasting, 
and that is the case now.” Poor Puccio imagined that her 
not sleeping was really occasioned by her going to bed with- 
out her supper: therefore he said, very honestly and kindly 
to her, “I have always bid you not to fast; but since you 
would doit, even try and rest as well as you can.” She 
replied, ‘‘ Do you take care of the affair you are now upon, 
never fear but I shall do well enough.” In this manner 
they went on, during the whole time of penance, and they 
contrived means of being frequently together afterwards ; 
so that, to make my first and last words agree, whilst 
Puccio was aiming only to get to heaven himself, he made 
the monk, who had showed him the way, extremely happy, 
as well as the lady. 


NOVEL V 


Ricctardo, surnamed the Beau, makes a present of a fine horse to Fran- 
cisco Vergellest, upon condition that he should have the liberty of 
speaking to his wife: and she making him no reply, he answers for 
her, which accordingly has its effect. 


THE ladies all smiled at Pamphilus’s story, when the queen 
laid her next commands upon Eliza, who began pretty 
smartly, according to her usual manner, to this effect :— 

There are many people who know so much, that they 
think others know nothing at all; and who whilst they are 
designing to overreach others, are themselves outwitted : 
therefore, I hold that person very unwise, who puts another 
man’s wits to the test, without any occasion: but as all of 
you may not be of my opinion, I will tell you what hap- 
pened to a knight of Pistoia. 

In the town of Pistoia there lived, not long since, a 
knight, named Francisco, of the family of the Vergellesi; 
a rich and prudent man in all respects, but covetous beyond 


154 THE DECAMERON 


measure, who being made provost of the city of Milan, and 
having furnished himself with everything necessary for such 
a high office, excepting a fine horse, he was at a loss where 
to meet with one that should please him. In the same 
town lived also a young gentleman, called Ricciardo, of no 
great family, but rich enough: a person so neat always and 
exact in his dress, that he was called the Beau; and who 
had long admired and followed the lady of Francisco, but 
hitherto without success. Now he was possessed of one 
of the most beautiful horses in all Tuscany, which he set 
a high value upon; but as it was known what a respect he 
bore towards Francisco’s wife, Francisco was given to under- 
stand, that, if he would ask it of him, the other would 
gladly make him a present of the horse upon that account. 
He, therefore, moved by his avarice, requested the Beau to 
sell him his horse, expecting, at the same time, that he 
should receive him as a gift. The other was much pleased 
with this, and said, ‘Sir, all. you have in the world could 
not purchase the horse; but you may have him for nothing, 
provided I may first have leave to say a word or two to 
your wife in your presence, at such a distance from every 
one that I may not be overheard. Francisco, overswayed 
by his covetous temper, and thinking to make a jest of the 
other, answered, that he was willing, as soon as he pleased ; 
and leaving him in the hall, he went upstairs to his wife, 
to tell her how easily he was going to get the horse; and 
to enjoin her to hear what the beau had to say, but to make 
him no answer, little or much. She blamed him for it, but, 
being bound to obey, she went with him into the hail, to 
hear what the other had to offer: who, taking her to the 
farthest part of the room, began in this manner: “I make 
no doubt, most worthy lady, but that you have long per- 
ceived how great a slave I am to the force of your beauty, 
which far exceeds that of all the ladies I ever beheld: not 
to mention your personal accomplishments, enough to 
vanquish the most resolute and insensible of men; there- 
fore, it would be needless to tell you, by words, that my 
love is the most fervent that a man can possibly have for a 
woman; and so it shall continue whilst life shall actuate 
these frail limbs; and even to eternity, if we love in the 


THIRD DAY 155 


next world as we do in this. Be assured, then, that you 
can call nothing your own, so much as me and mine: and 
to give you proofs of this, I should take it as a singular 
favour, if. you would command me such a service as it is 
possible for me to perform, seeing there is nothing I should 
refuse for your sake. To you, therefore, whose I am, and 
on whom all my peace and happiness depend, I address 
myself for relief, humbly hoping, as I am wounded to the 
heart by your beauty, that your merciful goodness will not 
suffer me to perish. For suppose I should die, you could 
not help saying to yourself, Alas! why did I not show some 
pity to my poor Beau. Which remorse would be greatly 
to your disquiet: think, therefore, before it be too late: for 
it is in your power to make me either the happiest or most 
miserable of men. I hope, however, that the love I bear 
you will not be rewarded with death; but that you will 
speak one word of comfort to raise my drooping spirits, 
which are ready to take flight, whilst Iam now before you.” 
Here he ended, and with tears streaming from his eyes, and 
fetching some deep sighs, sat expecting the lady’s answer ; 
whilst she, who had been hitherto unmoved, notwithstand- 
ing all his tilts, balls, serenades, and such-like gallantries, 
was now heartily affected with his last most tender ex- 
pressions; and began to feel that passion to which she 
had been hitherto a stranger; and though she was silent, 
out of regard to her husband’s commands, yet could she 
not avoid disclosing, by her sighs, what she had much 
rather have declared by words. 

The Beau, having waited some time, and. finding she 
made no answer, at first wondered very much; but he soon 
began to suspect that it was a trick of her husband’s: and 
looking earnestly at her, and observing the sparkling of her 
eyes, cast now and then towards him, and some secret 
sobbings which she strove in vain to. stifle; he began to 
take courage, and immediately hit on a new method, 
namely, to answer himself in the same manner as if she had 
spoken; which he did to this effect :—‘ Dear sir, I have 
most assuredly been a long witness of the great love you 
bear towards me, and am now further convinced of it from 
your words, with which I am well satisfied, as indeed I 


156 THE DECAMERON 


ought: and if I appeared displeased or hard-hearted, do not 
imagine that I was really so; I always loved you far beyond 
every other person, but that behaviour was necessary, for 
fear of other people, and to preserve my own character: the 
time is now come that I have it in my power to repay your 
love: then have a good heart; in a few days my husband 
goes to be provost at Milan, and as you have given him 
your favourite horse for my sake, I promise you, upon my 
word, that then you shall have admittance, and (that I may 
have no occasion to speak to you again upon the subject, 
till the very time) take notice, that, as soon as you shall 
perceive two handkerchiefs hanging out of the window, 
which looks toward the garden; be careful nobody sees 
you, and come to me through the door into the garden, 
where I shall be expecting you.” Having said this, as for 
the lady, he answered in his own person as follows: ‘‘ Dear 
madam, I am so transported with your reply, that I scarcely 
know how to return you due thanks ; but, were I able, no 
time would be sufficient to do it in the manner I could 
wish, and as I ought: I leave it therefore for you to imagine, 
as I find it impossible to be described: you may depend, 
however, on my being punctual to what you have proposed, 
and I shall always have a due sense of the great favour 
conferred upon me. Nothing now remains, my dearest 
love, but till that time to bid you adieu.” Notwithstanding 
all that he had spoken, she said not one word: upon which 
he arose, and made towards the knight, who was coming to 
meet him; and said to him with a smile, ‘‘ Well, what 
think you, sir, have I performed my promise or not ?”—By 
no means (answered he) for you promised I should speak 
to your lady, and you have given me a statue to talk to.” 
The knight was much pleased with this, and if he had a 
good opinion of his lady before, he had now a better. 
Afterwards he said, ‘‘ You allow, I suppose, that the horse 
is mine.” The Beau replied, ‘‘ Most certainly I do; but 
could I have thought no better success would have ensued 
on the bargain, I would have given him without any con- 
sideration ; for, as it is, you have bought him, and I not 
sold him,” The knight laughed heartily, and being now 
provided with a horse, he set out in a few days for Milan, 


THIRD DAY 157 


when he entered upon his office. The lady being then at 
liberty, began to think a little of the Beau’s words, and the 
regard he had for her; and seeing him often pass by her 
house, she said to herself, ‘‘ What am I about? Why dol 
lose all this time? My husband is at Milan, and will not 
return these six months, and when shall'‘I meet with such 
another lover? There is none here that I need be afraid 
of. Ido not see why I may not make use of the oppor- 
tunity, whilst I. may have it. Nobody will know it, or if 
they should, it is better to do it and repent, than to repent 
and not.to do it.” Having therefore resolved, she put two 
handkerchiefs out of the window, as the Beau had said. 
This he saw with a great deal of joy, and that very night 
went privately to the garden-door, which was open, as was 
also the door into the house, where he found the lady wait- 
ing for him: and though this was their first meeting, it was 
not the last, for, during the husband's stay at Milan, and 
even after his return, they found means of being frequently 
together, to the mutual joy of both parties. 


NOVEL VI 


Ricctardo Minutolo.ts tn love with the wife of Philippello Fighinolfi ; 
and knowing her to be zealous of her husband, makes her believe 
that he was to meet his wife that night at a bagnio. Accordingly 
she goes thither; and, imagining she had been with her husband ali 
the time, finds herself at last with Ricciardo. 


Exiza had now concluded her story; and, having com- 
mended the Beau’s ingenuity, the queen laid the next 
charge upon Flammetta, who began, with a smile, as 
follows :— 

It.may be convenient to quit our own city at present, 
which, as it abounds in everything, is no less fruitful in 
examples relating to most subjects; and to recount, as 
Eliza has done, what has come to passin other countries: 
therefore, passing over to Naples, I shall set forth how one 
of those sanctified ladies, who seemed averse to all love 
intrigues, was, by the dexterous management of her lover, 


158 THE DECAMERON 


brought to taste the fruits of love, before she had known 
the flower of it; which will both divert you as to what is 
already past, and caution you in certain points for the time 
to come. 

There lived at Naples, one of the most ancient and 
pleasant cities in all Italy, a young gentleman of great 
wealth, as well as nobly descended, called Ricciardo 
Minutolo; who, notwithstanding he had a beautiful lady 
for his wife, was enamoured of another, who was thought 
to surpass all the women in Naples, and was called Catella, 
being the wife of a young gentleman, named Philippello 
Fighinolfi, whom she loved and valued above all things. 
Now Ricciardo being in love with this lady, and doing 
everything which he thought might gain her affections, but 
to no manner of purpose, he fell into despair; and as he 
was unable to get the ascendency over his passion, he had 
no pleasure in living, at the same time that he knew not 
how to die. Continuing in this disposition, he was one 
day advised by the ladies of his acquaintance to give it over 
as a vain pursuit, seeing that Catella regarded nothing so 
much as her own husband, of whom she had that entire 
jealousy that she was fearful of every bird that flew over 
his head, lest it might snatch him from her. Ricciardo, 
hearing of this jealous disposition, began now to conceive 
hopes of success; and making a pretence of laying all such 
views aside, he gave it out that he had taken a fancy to 
another lady, towards whom he used the same gallantries 
as he had before done to Catella: and in a little time it 
was universally believed that it was no longer Catella that 
he fancied, but this second lady ; insomuch that she began 
now to put off that reservedness which had hitherto appeared 
in her behaviour, and to show the same openness and affa- 
bility to him as to her other neighbours. 

Now it happened, the season of the year being ‘sultry, 
that some companies of gentlemen and ladies went to 
divert themselves on the seashore, where they were to 
dine and sup; and Ricciardo knowing that Catella was 
gone thither with a party of people, he went likewise with 
a set of his friends; and, after much importuning, as if he 
was not fond of continuing there, he was persuaded to join 


“THIRD DAY 159 


companies with Catella and her friends there they all 
began to banter him concerning this new love of his, whilst 
he seemed so much affected with it, that they talked the 
more upon that subject. At length, being dispersed up 
and down, as is usual in those places, and Catella remaining 
only with a few friends where Ricciardo was, he threw in 
a word, as it were, relating to an intrigue of her husband’s, 
which gave her a violent fit of jealousy, and she grew 
extremely impatient to know the truth of it: in a little 
time, therefore, she began to entreat Ricciardo, that, for the 
sake of the lady whom he loved most, he would make that 
matter clear to her, relating to Philippello. ‘‘ You have 
conjured me,” he replied, ‘‘by a person, on whose account 
I can refuse nothing that is asked me, only you must 
promise never to speak a word to him, or any other person 
about it, till you find it really so, which I will show you how 
you may be satisfied of, as soon as you please.” She was 
now more strongly possessed of the truth of it, and promised 
to be silent. Taking her then apart, that they might not 
be overheard, he thus addressed her: ‘‘ Madam, if I now 
loved you in the manner I formerly did, I could not endure 
to tell you what must occasion so much uneasiness; but 
as that is at an end, I shall be less fearful of making a full 
discovery. I do not know whether your husband was 
provoked at my loving you; or whether he had any sus- 
picion of my being respected by you; but be this as it will, 
he has taken an opportunity, when I had the least cause 
to be jealous, of attempting to do by me, what he might 
suspect I meant to do to him; namely, to seduce my wife , 
for which purpose he has tried frequent messages, with 
which she has constantly made me acquainted; and 
returned such answers to them as [I directed her: and 
this very morning I found a woman in close conference 
with her, and imagining who she was, I asked my wife what 
the woman wanted. When she told me that she came from 
Philippello; ‘who from such answers,’ continued she, ‘as 
you have made me send, from time to time, begins to have 
hopes of prevailing ; and he now says that he wants me to 
come to a resolution, and that he can so order it, that we 
may meet privately at a bagnio; and he begs and entreats 


160 ~ THE DECAMERON 


me most earnestly to be there; and were it not that you 
have made me hold him in suspense with such frivolous 
answers, I should have dealt with him in such a manner, 
that he should never have troubled me more.’ I bore all 
the rest patiently, but now he has proceeded too far, and 
accordingly I resolved to tell you, that you might see how 
he has rewarded your most faithful love, for which I was 
just at death’s door; but, lest you should think this all 
groundless, and that yourself may be an eye-witness of it, 
I ordered her to tell the woman that she would meet him 
there at nine o’clock; when everybody would be asleep ; 
with which answer she went away well pleased. Now I 
would not have you suppose that I intend to send her 
thither; but, were I in your place, I should go instead of 
her, and after you have been some time together, I would 
then make a discovery of myself to him; by which means 
you will shame him from being ever guilty of the like prac- 
tices hereafter, and, at the same time, prevent the injury 
which is designed both to yourself and me.” 

Catella, without considering who it was that told her 
this, or what his designs might be, gave credit to it, as 
jealous people usually do to such-like stories; and calling 
to mind other circumstances to confirm it, she said, with a 
great deal of passion, that she would certainly do so, and 
that she would so confound him, that he should never dare 
to look women in the face more. 

Ricciardo was highly pleased, and now thinking that his 
scheme was likely to take effect, he confirmed her in that 
resolution, desiring her nevertheless not to mention what 
she had heard, which she accordingly promised. The next 
morning, then, he went to the woman who kept the bagnio, 
which he had mentioned to Catella, and begged her assist- 
ance in the affair, which she easily agreed to; and they 
contrived how it might be best effected. There was a 
dark room in the house, where she made up a bed, as he had 
directed her, and as soon as he had dined he went thither 
to wait for Catella. Whilst she, giving more credit to his 
words than she ought, returned home full of spleen; when 
it happened, by chance, that Philippello came home likewise 
very thoughtful, and perhaps might not show that fondness 


THIRD DAY r61 


towards her that he usually did, which ‘made her suspect 
the more; and she said to herself, “‘ Truly he is taken up 
with thinking of the lady whom he is to meet to-morrow, 
but I will prevent it:” and she was considering all night 
long what she should say to him at their meeting. Ina 
word, at nine o’clock she took a friend with her, and went 
directly to the bagnio, and seeing the good woman, she 
inquired if Philippello was there. She having learned the 
lesson from Ricciardo, said, “ Are you the lady that is to 
speak to him here?” Catella answered, “Iam.” ‘ Then,” 
said she, “goin there.” Catella, who went to seek what 
she would not willingly have found, was conducted into the 
room where Ricciardo lay: her face being covered with a 
veil, and she made fast the door, whilst he arose and went 
to meet her, saying, with a low voice, ‘‘ My dear, I am 
glad to see you.” In the meantime she made no answer, 
for fear of a discovery. At length, when she thought it a 
proper time to show her resentment, she broke out in the 
following manner: ‘‘ Miserable women as we are! How 
ill placed is the love that we bear to our husbands! For 
these eight years have I loved you more than my whole 
life ; whilst you, most wicked man, give yourself up entirely 
to another woman. Whom do you think you are now 
with? You are with her whom you have so often deceived 
with your false fiatteries, pretending affection, when you 
have placed it elsewhere. You villain, I am Catella, and 
not Ricciardo’s wife. Do you know my voice or not? I 
am, I tell you; and I think it long till I bring you into the 
light, to confound you with shame as you deserve. Alas! 
whom have I loved in this manner for so many years! 
Who, but this wretch, who, supposing himself in bed with 
another woman, hath showed more fondness than he ever 
did to me since we were matried. Why do not you answer, 
you villain? Are you struck dumb at what I have said? 
I have a good mind to pull your eyes out of your head. 
You thought it had been all a secret; but you are mis- 
taken.” Ricciardo was pleased at hearing these words, 
and returned no answer but by his caresses; whilst she, 
resuming her complaints, said, “If you think to wheedle 
me in this manner you are mistaken; I will never rest till 
- 


162 THE DECAMERON ‘ 


I have exposed you to all our neighbours and friends. 
Am I not as handsome as the wife of Ricciardo?::Am I 
not as good a gentlewoman as she? Hands offs. touch 
me not. I know full well that your fondness, since I have 
made the discovery, is all forced; but if I live you shall 
repent it. I see no reason why I should not ‘send to 
Ricciardo, who once entirely loved me, and yet could 
never boast that I vouchsafed to give him one kind. look ; 
and who knows what mischief may then ensue?, You 
thought you had been with his wife all this time, and you 
are equally guilty as if you really had; therefore, were I 
to prove criminal with him you could not blame me.” 
Her complaints were long and outrageous; till at: length 
he began to think that if she was suffered to depart in this 
mood, it might be of bad consequence, therefore he re- 
solved to undeceive her: and holding her so fast in his 
arms, that she could not get away, he said to her, “ My 
life, do not make yourself uneasy, that which I:could not 
have by dint of love, I have obtained by stratagem: I am 
your Ricciardo.” She hearing this, and knowing his voice, 
would have leaped out of bed, but could not; and as she 
was going to cry out, he laid his hand upon her mouth, 
and said, “ Madam, what has been now done cannot be 
undone again, were you to cry all your life long; and if it 
be made public by any means, two things must happen. 
The first, which is of great concern to you, is, that your 
honour and good name will be called in question; for 
though you ‘should allege your being deceived, I wiil 
contradict it, and say that you came hither for reward, and 
because I would not give you as much as you expected, 
for that reason you made all this disturbance; and you 
know that people are always more ready to believe what is 
bad, than what is good, of ahother, on which account my 
story would find the most credit. In the second place a 
mortal enmity must ensue betwixt me and your husband ; 
and things may be carried so far, that he may kill me, or I 
him, which would give you great uneasiness: therefore, my 
dearest life, do not lessen yourself and make mischief be- 
tween us. You are not the first nor will you be the last that 
is imposed upon. It is not to deprive you of your honour, 


THIRD DAY 163 


but it is the abundant regard I have for you that has put 
me upon using this device: and from henceforth myself, 
and all I am worth, shall be at your service; as you are 
discreet then in other things, I hope you will be so in 
this.” 

She expressed the utmost grief whilst he was speaking 
these words; but yet she listened so far to what he said, 
as to be convinced that it was reasonable ; when:she replied, 
“I do not know how God will enable me to bear both the 
injury and the trick you have put upon me; I will make 
no noise here, where I have been brought by my own 
foolishness’ and: over great jealousy; but this you may 
depend upon that I shall never be at quiet till I see my- 
self revenged one way or other: therefore let me go; you 
have gained your point, and have done what you pleased; 
it is time to leave me, leave me then I beseech you. 
Ricciardo, who saw the anguish of her heart, had resolved 
not to part with her before he made peace; using all the 
kind and tender expressions he could think of to mollify 
her; and he prevailed so far at last, that her former 
insensibility was turned into extreme love. 


NOVEL VII 


Tedaldo, having a misunderstanding with his mistress, leaves Florence. 
he returns thither afterwards in the habit of a pilgrim, and makes 
himself known to. her; when he convinces her of her mistake, and 
saves her husband from being put to death for hts murder, for 
which he had been condemned. He then reconciles him to “his 

~ brethren, and lives upon good terms with her for the future. 


FLAMMETTA, who, having been commended by all, was now 
silent; when, to prevent loss of time, the queen gave im- 
mediate orders:to Emilia, who began thus: 

I choose to return to our own city, which the two ladies 
_who:spoke last had departed from ; and to relate how one 
of our own Citizens regained his lost mistress. 

There lived at Florence a young nobleman, called 
| Tedaldo Ele, who, being in love with a lady named Monna 


164 THE DECAMERON 


Ermellina, wife to one Aldobrandino Palermini, was on 
account of his good qualities, deserving of success. But 
ill fortune was still in his way; for after the lady showed a 
liking to him, all at once she refused to see him, and 
would receive no more messages from him, which threw 
him into utter despair; but as his love was a secret, the 
cause of his melancholy was unknown. Divers means 
were used to regain the love, which had been lost without 
any fault of his; but finding all in vain, he resolved to 
separate himself from the world, that he might deprive her, 
who had been the cause of his malady, of the pleasure of 
seeing him in that condition. Getting, therefore, together 
what money he could privately raise, without saying a word 
of his intention to more than one friend, he went away, 
and came to Ancona, calling himself Philippo di Sanlodeccio, 
and he hired himself to a merchant, with whom he went on 
shipboard to Cyprus; who was so taken with his behaviour, 
that he not only allowed him a good salary, but took him 
as partner, entrusting the greatest part of his affairs to his 
management; which he ordered so discreetly, that, in a 
few years, he became a wealthy and famous merchant. 
Whilst he was in this employ, though he would some- 
times call to mind his cruel mistress, and be desirous of 
seeing her again; yet such was his resolution, that for six 
years together he got the better of his passion in this 
conflict ; till one day it happened, whilst he was at Cyprus, 
that he heard a song composed by himself sung there; in 
which was largely set forth the mutual love which they 
bore to each other; and concluding from thence, ‘that it 
was impossible she should ever forget him, he had such a 
desire to see her, that he could no longer forbear it ; and, 
settling his affairs, he departed with only one servant to 
Ancona, and consigned all his effects to a merchant at 
Florence, an acquaintance of his old friend at Ancona ; 
whilst he travelled privately with his servant like a pilgrim, 
just returned from the holy land. Being now arrived at 
Florence, he went to an inn, which was kept by two 
brethren, near where his mistress lived; when the first 
thing he did, was to go to the house to endeavour te 
see her; but he found the windows and doors all made 


THIRD DAY 165 


fast, which made him suspect that she was either dead or 
else had changed her dwelling. From thence he proceeded 
in a sorrowful manner towards the house where his brethren 
lived, when he saw four of them in mourning standing. at 
the door, which surprised him very much; and knowing 
himself so much altered since he had been away, that he 
could not be easily known again, he applied himself to a 
shoemaker, and inquired the reason of their being in 
black? who replied, ‘‘ About fifteen days ago, a brother of 
theirs, called Tedaldo, who has been long absent, was 
murdered ; and I understand they have proved in court, 
that he was killed by one Aldobrandino Palermini, who is 
arrested for it, because he had taken a fancy to his wife, 
and returned privately to be with her.” ‘Tedaldo wondered 
much that any one should be so like himself, as to be 
taken for him; being troubled also for Aldobrandino, and 
finding that. his mistress was alive and well; it being now 
night, he returned full of thought to his inn, and having 
supped along with his servant he was put to bed in a 
garret. There, what with his trouble, the badness of the 
bed, and perhaps his light supper, he was kept awake till 
midnight ; when he thought he heard some persons come 
from the top of the house, and he saw a light appear 
through the chinks of the door. Therefore, going softly 
to peep, he beheld a pretty young woman holding a candle, 
whilst three men were coming towards her, downstairs ; 
and, after some laughing together, one of them said, “ We 
are now safe, God be thanked, since Tedaldo’s death is 
proved by his brethren upon Aldobrandino Palermini, who 
has also confessed, and sentence is now passed; but yet it 
behoyes us to keep it private; for should it be known, 
hereafter, that we are the persons, we should be in the 
same danger that he is now in.” Having said this to the 
woman, who seemed pleased with it, they came downstairs, 
and went to bed. ‘Tedaldo, upon hearing what passed, 
began to reflect how great and many were the errors to 
_ which the mind of man was subject; first, thinking of his 
_ brethren who had mourned for a stranger, and buried him 
| by mistake for himself, and had afterwards taken up an 
' innocent person upon a bare suspicion, who was accordingly 


166 THE DECAMERON 


condemned through false witnesses ; considering also the 
blind severity of the law, and the ministers and dispensers 
of it, who, whilst they are solicitous to find out the truth, 
do often, by their horrid tortures, confirm a falsity; and, 
instead of serving the cause of God and justice, are rather 
the executioners of iniquity and the devil. After this he 
thought of Aldobrandino, and what was to be done to 
save his life. 

In the morning then he went alone to the lady’s house, 
and by chance finding the door open, he entered, when he 
beheld her sitting upon the ground in a little room, making 
sad lamentation. ‘* Madam,” said he to her, “do not 
trouble yourself; your peace is at hand.” She, lifting up 
her head, replied with tears, “‘ Honest man, thou seemest 
to be a stranger, what knowest thou either of my peace or 
affliction?” ‘Madam, I am a messenger sent by God 
from Constantinople, and am just now arrived, to turn your 
tears into joy, and to save your husband’s life.” She made 
answer, “If you are but now arrived, and come from 
Constantinople, what do you know either of me or my 
husband?” He then related to her the trouble of her 
husband, how long they had been married together, with 
many other circumstances, to which she was no stranger ; 
at which, being surprised, she fell down upon her knees, 
supposing him to have been a prophet; praying him, that 
if he was come for Aldobrandino’s sake, to make all pos- 
sible dispatch, for the time was short. He, showing himself 
to be a mighty religious person, said, “ Raise yourself up, 
madam, and attend to what I am going to say. This 
trouble is now come upon you on account of a sin formerly 
committed ; therefore you must take care how you do the 
like for the time to come, lest a greater calamity befall you.” 
* Alas!” quoth she, “Sir, I have been guilty of more sins 
than one; then tell me particularly what sin you mean, 
and I will do all in my power to amend.” ‘“‘ Madam,” re- 
turned he, “I do not ask for information: I know what 
sin it is: Ido it only that you may have the greater remorse 
by confessing. But to come to the point. Had you ever 
a lover?” The lady was in great amaze at this, supposing’ 
nobody had known anything of the matter; though, from 


THIRD DAY 167 


the time that person was slain, who had been buried for 
Tedaldo, something of that kind had been talked of, occa- 
sioned by some words imprudently let fall by Tedaldo’s 
friend, whom he had entrusted with the secret ; and fetching 
a deep sigh, she said, “‘I perceive Heaven has revealed to 
you all the secrets of mankind, therefore I shall make no 
scruple of telling you mine. I did love, I confess, that 
unhappy young man whose death is now laid to my hus- 
band, and which has given me also infinite concern ; for 
though I might appear a little harsh to him, yet neither 
hath his parting, long stay, nor miserable death, been able 
to drive him from my heart.” The other then said, “The 
poor man who is dead never loved you, though Tedaldo 
did. But tell me what was the reason of your quarrelling 
with him?» Did he ever give you any offence?” She 
replied, ‘‘ Most certainly he did not; but it was all owing 
to a wicked friar, who, after I had mentioned to him, at 
confession, my love for that person, and our familiarity 
together, so terrified me, with denouncing eternal damna- 
tion to such practices, that I immediately resolved to break 
off all acquaintance with him, and from that time rejected 
all his solicitations ; though I really think, had he persisted 
a little longer, for I suppose he went away in despair, I 
might have relented at last, because I had a true value 
for him.” ‘ Madam,” quoth the stranger, ‘“‘this is the sin 
which now sticks close to you. It was of your own accord 
that you first loved Tedaldo; there was no force in the 
case; you were agreeable to each other, and acquaintance 
begot more love. Why, therefore, was he discarded in that 
cruel manner? These things should always be considered 
beforehand; and you should never engage when you are 
likely to repent. Now, with regard to these friars, you 
must understand that, being one of them, I must be sup- 
posed to know something of their ways; and therefore if I 
speak a little more freely concerning them, it will be more 
excusable, as it is all for your good. Formerly they were 
religious good men; but they who call themselves so now- 
a-days, and would be thought such, resemble the others in 
nothing but their hoods; nor in those things entirely: for 
the first friars wore them coarse and scanty, to show their 


£68 THE DECAMERON 


great contempt of all temporal things, when they wrapped 
their bodies in such mean habits; but now they are made 
full shining, and of the finest cloth that can be got: and, 
resembling in their cut the pontifical robes, they strut with 
them, like so many peacocks, in churches and all public 
places ; and as a fisherman strives to take as many fish as 
possible with one cast of his net, so do these with their 
large folds envelop and captivate young maids, who have 
vowed chastity, widows, and other simple people: and this 
is their whole care and study: so that, to speak properly, 
they have not preserved the hoods of their predecessors, 
but only the colour of them. Formerly, also, they were 
solicitous for people’s salvation, but now they desire only 
women, and as much money as they can get; for which 
purpose they terrify the ignorant with idle stories, making 
them believe, that their sins are all to be purged away with 
alms-giving and saying masses; for which purpose one 
sends bread, a second wine, and a third money, all for the 
souls of their departed friends. It is most certain that 
prayers, and giving of charities, are both pleasing to God: 
but if people knew what sort of folks they were bestowed 
upon, they would sooner throw what they part with in that 
manner to the hogs. They know full well, that rich people 
are not so manageable as the poorer sort, for which reason 
they are for engrossing wealth to themselves. They cry 
down luxury, whilst they wallow in all kinds of debauchery. 
They condemn usury and evil gains, in order to purchase 
some great benefice or bishopric, with what is given them 
by way of restitution; and which, being detained from 
them, would occasion (they say) that person’s damnation. 
And when they are told of these, and many other of their 
wicked practices, all the answer they make, is, ‘Do as we 
say, not as we do’; as if it were possible for the sheep to 
have more resolution and constancy than the shepherd. 
But they would have you do as they say, namely, fill their 
purses with money; entrust them with all your secrets; be 
chaste, patient, forgivers of injuries, and never to speak an 
ill word, which are all very good things; but for what 
reason? why, truly, that they may then do what, if we 
acted otherwise, they could not! We all know, without 


THIRD DAY 169 


money there could be no sloth or idleness. If you spend 
your money for your own diversion, they could not have it 
for their maintenance: if you visit the women, they would 
want the opportunity of being with them themselves: unless 
you are patient, and a forgiver of injuries, they would not 
dare to come into your house to corrupt your family. But 
why do I go through so many particulars? Let them first 
set the example, and then teach others. Suppose, how- 
ever, what the friar told you to be true, namely, that it is 
a great crime to break the matrimonial vow: is not murder 
as bad? If, then, after Tedaldo had fallen into such 
despair, as to leave his country, he had laid violent hands 
upon himself, would not you have been the occasion of it ? 
Now, by your own confession, he deserved no such usage 
at your hands. This therefore is, the crime, which is at- 
tended with its due punishment; for, as you broke your 
engagement without reason ; in like manner without reason, 
is your husband in danger of his life upon his account, and 
yourself in great trouble. All that you can do then to be 
free, is to promise, and to be as good as your word, that if 
_ ever he returns from his long banishment, you will reinstate 
him into the same degree of favour, that he enjoyed before 
you were over-persuaded by that mischievous friar.” 

When he had made an end.of speaking, she replied in 
this manner:—‘“ Good sir, I allow what you say to be 
right: to be sure, they are a set of very bad people, though 
hitherto I had a quite different opinion of them: I own 
myself also much to blame with regard to Tedaldo, and 
would do as you say: but hows it possible? He is dead ; 
and what need is there then of making any promise about 
him?” The stranger made answer, “Madam, I know he 
is not dead, but alive and well, provided he has your good 
graces.” She then replied, ‘Be careful of what you say, 
I saw him before our door stabbed in several places, and 
I lamented much over him; which, I suppose, gave occa- 
sion to the scandalous story that was raised about us.”— 
‘* Madam,” quoth he, ‘say what you please, I assure you 
he is not dead; and, if you will promise what I desire, I 
hope you will soon see him.”—-“ That,” she replied, “I will 
do with all my heart ; nothing cam give me greater pleasure 

F 2 


170 THE DECAMERON f 


than to see my husband at liberty, and Tedaldo living.” 
He now thought it a fit time to make a discovery of him- 
self, and to give her more assurance concerning her’ hus- 
band; therefore he said, “‘ Madam, for your greater comfort, 
I have one secret to entrust you with, which you must keep 
as you value your husband’s life.” ‘Then taking a ring out 
of his pocket, which she had given him the last night of 
their being together, he showed it to her, saying, “‘ Madam, 
‘do you know this?” She instantly remembered it, and 
replied, “‘ Yes, sir, I gave it formerly to Tedaldo.” He 
then arose from his seat,,.and, throwing off his hood, said, 
‘And do you know me?” When she saw him she was 
quite confounded, finding him to be Tedaldo, and was as 
much afraid as she would have been of a ghost; considering 
him not as returned from Cyprus, but as newly risen from 
the dead. He then said to her, “Doubt not, Madam; I 
am your Tedaldo, alive and well; 1 never was dead, as 
you and my brothers believe.” The lady began now to be 
a little better reconciled to him, and ‘throwing her arms 
about. his‘ neck, she cried, ‘‘ My dear Tedaldo, you are 
welcome home.”” He embraced her, and said, “ Madam, 
we have no time now for these greetings; I must go and 
take care of your husband, of whom I hope that before to- 
morrow you will hear such news as will please you; and if 
I succeed according to my expectation, I will come and 
spend this evening with you; when I shall be able to 
give you a more full account than my time will permit at 
present.” 

Resuming his former habit, therefore, sl taking his 
leave of her, he went to the prison to Aldobrandino, who 
lay expecting nothing but death; and being admitted by 
the favour of the keeper as a confessor, he sat down by 
him, and spoke in this manner: ‘‘I am a messenger of 
God (who has regard to your innocence) to bring you 
tidings of your deliverance; for his sake, then, I request 
one little favour, which, if you grant, I make no doubt but 
that before to-morrow night, you will hear of a pardon.” 
Aldobrandino replied, ‘‘Sir, you are a stranger to me, but 
I must suppose you to be a friend, since you are so 
solicitous about my deliverance. With regard to this fact, 


THIRD DAY 171 


however, which has been sworn upon mnie, I, am entirely 
innocent, I may have been bad enough in other respects, 
for which this may be a judgment upon me. Then ask 
what you please, be the request of ever such consequence, 
I promise to grant it, if I can obtain my liberty.” He 
made answer, ‘“‘What I require is only a pardon for 
Tedaldo’s four brethren, who have brought you into this 
trouble, supposing you were concerned in murdering their 
brother, whenever they ask it of you.” Aldobrandino 
replied, ‘‘ Nobody knows the sweets of revenge, and how 
eagerly it is coveted, but they who have received the 
injury; nevertheless, I forgive them, and if I obtain a 
pardon I will do it in such a manner as shall be most 
agreeable to you.” He was pleased with this, and bid him 
have a good heart, for that before the next day at night he 
should be assured of his liberty; and from thence went 
straight to the signiory, and taking one of the lords aside, 
he. said to him, ‘‘Sir, it is the business of every one te 
endeavour to find out the truth, especially such as are in your 
station, in order that people may not suffer wrongfully ; and 
that they who deserve punishment may have it; which, 
that it may tend to your honour and the confusion of 
the guilty, is what now brings me before you. You know 
you have proceeded with severity against Aldobrandino, 
thinking you had proved the murder upon him of 
Tedaldo. This I aver to be false, as I shall prove to you 
before midnight, delivering the very murderers into your 
hands.” The worthy lord, who was under great concern 
for Aldobrandino, gave ear to the stranger’s story, and 
about midnight the two brothers and their maid were 
taken by his means, being let into the house by him; 
when they all confessed the fact, namely, that they had 
slain Tedaldo without knowing him. Being asked the 
reason, they declared that it was because he would have 
forced one of their wives when they were abroad. After 
this was known, he had leave to depart, and he went 
privately to the lady’s house to give her a full account 
of what had passed; he afterwards spent the night with 
her, when there was a firm and thorough reconciliation. 
In the morning, having acquainted her with what he meant 


Sf 


172 THE DECAMERON 


to do, and enjoined her secrecy, he went as soon as time 
came to attend to the affair of Aldobrandino; when the 
lords, upon a full inquiry, released him, and sentenced the 
others to lose their heads where the fact was committed. 
Aldobrandino being discharged, and knowing that it was 
all owing to the stranger, he and his friends invited him 
to their houses to make what stay he pleased, and showed 
him all possible respect; the lady especially, who well 
knew to whom she was so obliging. And now, thinking it 
time to bring about a reconciliation between Aldobrandino 
and his brethren, who had gained so much ill-will since his 
discharge that they were forced to go armed, he demanded 
his promise. Aldobrandino answered that he was willing. 
He therefore made him provide a great entertainment, to 
which his relations and their wives were to be invited, and 
the four brethren with their wives, and that himself would 
ask them as to his feast. Accordingly he went to the four 
brethren, and after much entreaty prevailed upon them, in 
order to regain Aldobrandino’s friendship, to ask pardon ; 
and when that was done, invited them the next day to 
dine there, giving them his word for their security. 

At dinner-time, therefore, the next day, Tedaldo’s four 
brethren, all in mourning, with some of their friends, came 
first to Aldobrandino’s house, who was expecting them ; 
when, laying their arms down upon the ground, in presence 
of all the guests who had been invited to bear them com- 
pany, and offering themselves to his mercy, they humbly 
asked his pardon. He received them with abundance of 
tears, and saluting them one after another, forgave the 
injury he had suffered. After this their sisters and their 
wives came also, and were graciously received by Ermellina 
and the other ladies. And the entertainment being now 
served up, and everything agreeable, excepting a confirmed 
silence, occasioned by the late sorrow, which was repre- 
sented by the habit of Tedaldo’s relations; on which 
account the stranger's contrivance and invitation appeared 
unseasonable to many people. This he soon perceived, 
and resolved, when he saw a fit time, to remove: accord- 
ingly, when the dessert was served up, he arose and said, 
‘Nothing seems wanting to make this a merry meeting but 


THIRD DAY 173 


the presence of Tedaldo, whom, as you have had so long 
with you without knowing him, I mean now to show you.” 
—Throwing off then his monk’s disguise, he appeared in 
a green silk doublet, and was known by all to their great 
surprise, who gazed upon him for a considerable time 
before they could be convinced that he was the very 
person; which he perceiving, related many circumstances 
concerning both themselves and him for their further 
satisfaction. Upon which the brethren and the rest of the 
men all ran and embraced him, as did all the women 
except Ermellina; which, when Aldobrandino saw, he said, 
‘‘What’s the meaning of this, Ermellina? Why don’t you 
welcome Tedaldo home, when everybody.else has done 
it?” She replied, in the hearing of them all, that no one 
could rejoice more sincerely than herself, at she was 
obliged to him for her husband’s life; but the scandalous 
words that had been given out concerning her when that 
person was taken for Tedaldo had made her cautious. 
Aldobrandino replied, ‘‘ Away with these idle stories ; do 
you think I regard them? He has sufficiently cleared 
himself by his regard for my life: do then as the rest have 
done.” She wanted nothing so much, and was therefore 
not slow in obeying her husband’s order. Aldobrandino’s 
liberality was so agreeable to all present, both men and 
women, that their former misunderstanding was quite 
forgotten. After Tedaldo then had received every one’s 
compliments, he tore the mourning off all his kindred, and 
ordered other clothes to be immediately brought; and 
having put them on, they concluded the feast with singing, 
dancing, and such like diversions. From thence they went 
to Tedaldo’s house, where they supped, and they continued 
feasting many days. Whilst the people for some time 
looked upon him with the utmost amazement as one risen 
from the dead, and perhaps his very brethren might have 
still entertained some doubt about him if one thing had 
not happened, which made it clear who the person was 
that was slain, and which was as follows:—Some sorry 
fellows of Lunigiana were going one day past the house, 
and seeing Tedaldo at the door, they stopped and said, 
“How do you do, Fativolo?” Tedaldo replied, before 


174 THE DECAMERON 


some of his brethren, ‘“You mistake your man.” They, 
hearing him speak, were out of countenance, and asked 
pardon, saying, “‘ Never two people were more alike 
than you and a companion of ours, called Fativolo da 
Pontriemoli, who has been come hither these fifteen days, 
and we can’t learn what has befallen him. We wondered 
indeed how he came by this dress, for he was a soldier, as 
we are.” The eldest brother, hearing this, inquired more 
particularly as to his clothes, and finding all circumstances 
agree, it now appeared plainly that it was Fativolo, and 
not Tedaldo, that was slain, and this set every one right 
with regard to that affair. Thus Tedaldo returned home 
tich, and continued his acquaintance with the lady without 
any further interruption. May the like good fortune happen 
to us all. 


NOVEL VIII 


Ferondo, by taking a certain drug, is buried for dead, and by the abbot, 
who has an intrigue with his wife, ts taken out of the grave and 
put into a dungeon, when he ts made to belteve that he is in pur- 
gatory: being raised up again, he rears a child as his own, which 
the abbot had got by hts wife. 


Emiui4’s long novel was now brought to a conclusion 
(though it did not appear long to the company, on account 
of the variety of incidents with which it was stored), when 
the queen gave a nod to Lauretta, who began in this 
manner :— 

I am going to relate a thing which has more the appear- 
ance of fiction than truth, and which I call to mind, from 
what has just been told us, of one person’s being mourned 
for, and buried instead of another. I purpose then to tell 
you how a living person was buried as though he had been 
dead ; how afterwards it was believed by himself, as well 
as other people, that he was risen from the dead, and 
not actually living all the time; and how one obtained the 
name of a saint upon that score, and was adored as such, 
when he deserved rather to have been severely punished. 

There was in Tuscany a certain abbey, and is at present, 


THIRD DAY — 175 


situated in a lonesome place; of which a certain monk 
was chosen abbot, who was religious enough in every re- 
spect, excepting the affair of women, and this he managed 
so well, that: he was never. suspected ;. therefore he was 
reckoned ‘pious in all points. Now it happened, that a 
rich countryman was acquainted with this abbot, one of 
mean parts and understanding, but whose simplicity would 
sometimes afford matter of mirth; and in the course of 
their acquaintance, the abbot found that he had a hand- 
some wife, with whom he grew most violently in love; but 
being informed that Ferondo, however stupid in other 
things, was prudent enough as to his care of her, he almost 
despaired of success; yet he managed sovartfully, that he 
prevailed upon Ferondo to bring her sometimes for their 
amusement to his gardens at the abbey, when he would 
discourse to them of the beatitudes of eternal life, and of 
the pious works of many righteous people departed hence ; 
which had that:effect upon the lady, that she had a great 
desire to confess to him: for this purpose she desired 
leave of her husband, which was granted. Coming then 
to confession, greatly to his good liking, and sitting at his 
feet, she began, before she entered upon her subject, to 
this effect :—*‘‘ Sir, if God’had given mea different sort of a 
husband from what I now have, or if he had given me 
none at all, yet with your instruction it would be easy for 
me perhaps to pursue the path which you have pointed out 
to eternal life: but: when I:consider what sort of a person 
I am tied to, I must look upon myself as a widow, and yet 
in this respect worse than married, as I can have no other 
husband as long as he lives. Besides, he is so unreasonably ' 
jealous, that I live in constant misery with him: therefore, 
before I proceed to confession, I must beg a little of your 
advice in this particular ; for, till I find some remedy here, 
confession, or any other good work, will be of little effect.” 
This touched the abbot in the: most sensible part; and 
now thinking that fortune had opened a way to what he 
had so long aimed at, he replied :—‘ Daughter, I can 
easily believe how grievous it is for a pretty young lady, as 
you are, to have a fool for: your husband, and it is worse 
to have a man that is iealous; therefore, you must suffer 


176 THE DECAMERON 


extremely that have both one and the other. But to be 
plain with you, I see no advice that can avail, or remedy, 
but one; namely, to cure him of that jealousy. The 
remedy, in such a case, I know well how to apply, provided 
you will keep it a secret.”—‘ Father,” quoth the lady, 
‘never fear; I would die before I would make a discovery 
contrary to your injunction: but how is it possible?” The 
abbot replied, “If we desire he should be cured, it will be 
necessary for him to go first into purgatory.”—‘ What, go 
there alive?” quoth the lady.—‘‘He must die first,” 
answered the abbot, “and then go thither; and when he 
shall have suffered enough to cure him of his jealousy, we 
shall use a few prayers to bring him to life again, and it 
shall be done.”—‘' Then I must remain a widow?” said 
the lady.—‘‘ For a time,” he replied, ‘when you must be 
exceedingly careful not to be prevailed upon to marry 
elsewhere, for that would be a very bad thing, and as you 
must return to Ferondo, when he comes to life again, he 
would be more jealous than ever.”——“ Well,” quoth she, 
‘so long as there is a cure, and I am not to be a prisoner 
all my life, do as you will, I am: content.”—“ But,” con- 
tinued he, ‘‘ what reward shall I have for this service? ” 
——‘ Father,” she replied, ‘‘ whatever lies in my. power to 
give; but what can such an one as myself offer worthy the 
acceptance of a person like you?” He made answer, 
‘‘ Madam, it is in your power to do as much for me, as it 
is mine for you. As I am ready then to perform what 
shall be for your ease and comfort, so should you be 
mindful of me in a point where my life and welfare are 
both concerned.”—‘‘ If it be so,” quoth she, “I am very 
ready.” —“‘ Then,” said he, “you must grant me your love, 
for which I entirely languish.” She was startled at this, 
and said, ‘‘Alas! my father, what is it you would have? I 
took you always for a saint. Do holy men request such 
favours of ladies who come to them for advice?” The 
abbot replied: ‘‘ My dearest life, let this not’ surprise you; 
my sanctity is not the less on this account, because that 
abides in the soul, and what I ask of you is only a sin of 
the body. But however that may be, the force of your 
beauty is such that constrains me to do thus: and I must 


THIRD DAY 177 


tell you that you have reason to value yourself upon it, as 
it captivates the saints, who are employed in contemplating 
the beauties of heaven. Besides, although I am an abbot, 
IT am yet a man, and not old; nor should you think much 
of this, but rather be desirous of it, because all the time he 
is in purgatory I will supply his place, and it will never be 
so much as suspected, because every one has the same 
opinion of me that you yourself just now declared. Then 
refuse not what is thus offered you; there are enough that 
would be glad of it. Moreover, I have jewels and other 
things of value, which I intend shall all be yours. Do, 
therefore, my dearest love, what I would willingly do for 
you.” The lady had her eyes fixed on the ground, not 
knowing how to deny him, and yet to grant the favour 
seemed not so well: he, perceiving that she began to listen, 
and did not immediately reply, supposed the conquest 
half made, and continued using such sort of arguments as 
before, till he convinced her that it would bea good action ; 
therefore she said at last with a blush, that she was willing 
to comply, but not till her: husband was sent to purgatory. 
The abbot was well enough satisfied with this, and replied, 
**He shall go thither directly, only do you take care that 
he comes hither to-morrow, or next day, to make some 
stay with me.” Upon saying this, he put a fine ring into 
her hand, and dismissed her. She was overjoyed with the 
present, supposing she should have many more such ; and 
returning to her friends, related wonderful things of the 
abbot’s great sanctity, and they went together to her own 
house. Ina few days Ferondo went to the abbey, and as 
soon as the abbot saw him he prepared a drug, which came 
to kim as a present from a great person out of the East, 
and which was used, when he had a mind to throw any 
one into a trance; so that by giving more or less he could, 
without doing them any harm, make them sleep as long as 
he pleased: insomuch, that whilst its effect lasted, you 
would imagine them to be dead; of this he took as much 
as would operate for three days, and mixing it up witha 
glass of wine, without his perceiving it, gave it to him to 
drink. He afterwards walked with him into the cloisters 
with several of the monks, and they began to be merry 


178 THE DECAMERON 


together as usual. In some little time it began to work, 
and he was taken with sudden drowsiness, and he nodded 
as he stood, and at last fell down in a profound sleep. 

The abbot seemed much concerned at the accident, 
making them unbutton his collar and throw cold water in 
his face, in order to bring him to himself, as though it had 
been occasioned by’some fumes from his stomach, or such- 
like disorder: but when they found’ all was in vain, and 
perceiving, by touching his pulse, no signs’ of life remain- 
ing, it was concluded by all that he was certainly dead: 
accordingly they sent to acquaint his wife and relations, who 
immediately came thither, and having lamented over him 
for a time, he was buried by the abbot’s direction, with his 
clothes on, in one of their vaults. She went back to her 
own house, giving out, that she resolved never to stir a step 
from a little son she had: by him; and continuing there, 
she took upon herself the management of the child, as well 
as estate, which he had left behind. © The abbot, when. 
night came, carried a monk of Bologna with him, whom 
he could trust, and who was just come thither upon a visit ; 
and taking Ferondo out of the vault, they brought him into 
a dungeon, which served as a prison for the monks that 
had committed any fault; when, stripping him of his 
clothes, they dressed him in the habit of a monk, and left 
him upon a bundle of straw, till he should come to him: 
self; whilst the monk, being instructed by the abbot as to 
what he would have done, was to wait there without any- 
body’s knowing anything of the matter, till) he had. his 
senses. ‘The next day the abbot went, attended by some 
of his monks, to pay his visit of condolence to the widow, 
whom he found in her weeds very sorrowful ; and, after a 
little consolation, he put her softly in'mind of her promise. 
She, finding herself now at liberty, and seeing another 
valuable ring on his finger, gave her consent,‘and it was 
agreed that he should come the next night. When that 
time came, therefore, he put on Ferondo’s clothes, and 
taking his faithful monk along with him, went thither, and 
stayed till the morning ; and this practice he followed so 
long, that he was frequently seen passing backwards and 
forwards by the neighbours who all agreed, that it was 


THIRD DAY 279 


Ferondo who walked there, doing penance, and many 
strange stories were reported among the simple country 
people about it, which were carried to the lady, who knew 
full well what kind of ghost it was. ‘The monk, as soon as 
he perceived Ferondo growing a little sensible, came in, 
making a most terrible’ noise; and having a rod in his 
hand, began to chastise him severely.. Ferondo, crying 
very much, could say nothing else but, ‘‘ Where am I?” 
The other replied, “‘Thou art in purgatory.” ‘ How!” 
said Ferondo, ‘‘and am I then dead?” “ Most surely,” 
answered the monk. Upon which he began to lament for 
himself, his wife, and child, uttering the strangest things 
in the world; whilst the monk gave him something to 
eat and drink, which Ferondo seeing, said, ‘“‘ What? do 
dead people eat?” The monk replied, “Yes, and what I 
now bring, thy wife sent this morning to church, to have 
mass said for thy soul.” ‘God bless her! 1» quoth 
Ferondo, “we always lived happily together.” When, 
finding himself hungry, he began to eat and drink, and the 
wine being very bad, he said, ‘‘ Alas! why did she not give 
the priest some of that wine nearest to the wall?” No 
sooner had he filled his belly than he had the same dis- 
cipline over again: when he roaring out amain, ‘said, 
“What is all this for?” The monk answered, ‘‘ Because 
-thou art jealous of thy wife, who is one of the best of 
women.” ‘ Alas!” quoth’ he, “you say true; she was a 
most dear creature; but I did not know that it was a sin 
to be jealous.” ‘*Oh!” said the monk, ‘‘ you should have 
taken care of that whilst you were in the other world ; and 
if it should happen that you return thither, remember what 
I now say, and be jealous no more.” ‘ Then,” replied 
Ferondo, “do people ever return thither again, after they 
have been dead?” “Yes,” said the other, “if God so 
pleases.” “Oh!” quoth Ferondo, “if that should be my 
case, I would be the best husband in the world; I would 
never beat her, or say an angry word, unless it were for the 
bad wine she has sent me, and letting me have no candles, 
that I am forced to eat in the dark.” “She sent candles 
enough,” answered the monk, “but they are all burnt out 
at the mass.” “ Well,” quoth Ferondo, “‘you say very 


180 THE DECAMERON 


true, and when J go back she shall do as she pleases: but 
pray tell me who you are that do all this unto me?” The 
monk replied, “I am now dead; but I was of Sardinia, 
and am condemned to this office, because I formerly com- 
mended a certain master of mine for being jealous.” 
* But,” said Ferondo, “is nobody here then besides. us 
two.” ‘ Yes,” replied he, “thousands; but you can no 
more see or hear them, than they can hear or see us.” 
“Then,” quoth Ferondo, ‘‘ how far may we be distant from 
our own countries?” ‘‘ Many thousands. of leagues,” 
answered the other. ‘Why truly that is far enough,” 
quoth Ferondo, ‘“‘then we must certainly be out of the 
world.” In this manner was Ferondo kept there for ten 
months, whilst the abbot continued his visits to the wife; 
till at last she proved with child, when it was thought con- 
venient that he should be delivered out of purgatory. 
The next night, therefore, the abbot went into the dungeon, 
and called upon Ferondo, with a counterfeited voice, 
saying, “* Take courage, Ferondo: it is now ordered that thou 
return into the other world, when thou shalt have a son by 
thy wife, whom thou shalt name Benedict ; because, through 
the prayers of the holy abbot, and thy most virtuous wife, 
and the intercession of St. Benedict, this favour is granted 
thee.” He was overjoyed at hearing this, and_ said, 
‘‘Thanks be to St. Benedict, my wife, and the abbot; 
I shall ever love and honour them.” Accordingly, in the 
next wine that was sent him, the abbot mingled as much of 
the former drug as would make him sleep four hours; 
when they put his own clothes upon him, and he was 
carried into the vault where he had been interred. By 
break of day then he came to himself, and seeing a 
glimmering of light through a crevice of the vault, which 
he had been utterly deprived of for ten months, he began 
to suppose himself alive, and he cried out aloud, saying, 
“Open the vault and let me forth.” At the same time he 
lifted up the cover with his head, it being of no great 
weight, and was making his way out, whilst the monks, 
having just ended their morning service, ran thither, and 
knowing Ferondo’s voice, and seeing him arise out of the 
vault, they were so terrified that they fled to tell the abbot, 


THIRD DAY 181 


who, seeming to them to be just risen from prayer, said, 
** Fear not, my sons; take the crucifix and holy water, and 
follow me, that we may see what kind of miracle this is.” 
Ferondo was quite pale, as might be supposed, having 
been so long confined without seeing any light; but as 
soon as the abbot appeared, he fell at his feet, saying, 
‘Your prayers, most holy father, as it has been revealed 
to me, and those of my wife, with the intercession of St. 
Benedict, have delivered me out of purgatory, and brought 
me to life again, for which I shall ever be thankful.” 
“Then go,” quoth the abbot, “as this mercy is bestowed 
upon you, and comfort your wife, who has been in the 
utmost trouble ever since you departed from us.” He, 
seeming also to hold the thing in great veneration, ordered 
the monks to sing devoutly the J/iserere. In the mean- 
time, Ferondo returned to his house, where every one that 
saw him fled, as if they had seen some terrible sight, 
affirming that he was risen from the dead. His wife also 
expressed the utmost consternation. In some little time, 
however, after they were convinced of his being alive, they 
began to ask him questions concerning the souls of their 
departed friends, when he made the finest stories in the 
world about purgatory! relating to them, also, what had 
been revealed to him before his resurrection. From that 
time he lived comfortably with his wife; and at length 
they had a son, whom they called Benedict Ferondo. 
Ferondo’s resurrection, and what he himself reported about 
it, every one giving entire credit to his words, added greatly 
to the character of the abbot’s extraordinary sanctity. 
Ferondo also was cured of his jealousy; and his wife had 
the pleasure of the abbot’s company, as often as they 
could conveniently meet together. 


182 THE DECAMERON 


NOVEL IX 


Giletta de Narbonne cures the King of France of a complaint, and 
demands the Count de Rousstlon in marriage, as her reward; he 
marries her against his will, and goes in a pet to Hlorence, where 
he fell in love with a young lady, and lay with his own wife, when 
he thought himself in bed with hts mistress. She had two sons 
by him, and, by that means, matters were accommodated at last 
between them. 


THERE remained now only the queen to speak (saving his 
privilege to Dioneus); therefore she began, without being 
called upon, in this manner :— 
Who can say anything now to please, since we have 
heard Lauretta’s story? It is well for most of the company 
she was not the first; for few would have. been thought so 
agreeable after her; and so I believe it will be with regard 
to such as are yet to. speak ; however, I shall keep to the 
subject, and give you my story, such as it is. 

There lived in France a gentleman named Isuard Count 
Roussilon, who, because he was in a bad state of health, 
kept always a physician in his house, called Master Gerard 
de Narbonne. .Now the count had an only son, whose 
name was Beltram, a fine youth, who was brought up along 
with other children of his own age, amongst whom was a 
daughter to this physician, called Giletta, who had an 
infinite esteem and love (more than was common at such 
an age) for him; whilst he, on account of his father’s 
death, and his being left to the king’s care, was obliged to 
go to Paris, which gave her the utmost concern: soon 
afterwards her father dying also, she would gladly, if she 
could have found a fit pretence, have gone thither to have 
seen him; but such care was taken of her, as she was an 
heiress, that it was impossible. Being now of age to marry, 
and being unable to forget her first love, though she had 
many offers, to whom her guardians would willingly have 
disposed of her, she rejected them all, without assigning 
any reason. In the meantime, her love growing more 
violent every day, as she heard an extraordinary character 
of him, news was brought that the King of France had 


THIRD DAY 183 


a dangerous complaint which succeeded a swelling in his 
breast, from its not being well cured, that gave him extreme 
trouble; nor could he meet with a physician, though he 
had tried many, that was able to heal it; but, on the 
contrary, they had made it worse, insomuch that he was 
determined to have no more advice. This was agreeable 
enough to the young lady, not only as it afforded a pre- 
tence for her going to Paris, but also, if the disorder proved 
of the kind suspected, she had great hopes of getting 
Beltram for her husband; upon which, mixing up such 
sort of drugs as her father was wont to use in cases of that 
nature, she hastened away to Paris, when the first thing she 
did, after she had obtained a sight of Beltram, was to wait 
upon, the king, to-desire he would acquaint her with his 
malady.. His Majesty most graciously condescended to 
grant her request: when she was instantly convinced she 
was able to make a cure, and said, “Sir, if you will give me 
leave, I hope, without any pain or trouble, to restore your 
health in eight days.” The king could not help making © 
a jest of this, saying to himself, ‘‘What! shall a woman 
undertake to do that which has baffled all the best physicians 
in the world?” He thanked her, therefore, for her good 
intention, and told her that he resolved to try no more 
medicines. The lady then replied, ‘Sir, you ridicule my 
art, because you see me young, and a woman; but I must 
remind you, that I do not pretend to this from my own 
knowledge; but I rely upon the help of God, and the 
judgment of Master Gerard de Narbonne, who was a most 
eminent physician in his time, and my father.” The king, 
hearing this, said to himself, ‘‘ Perhaps she is sent from 
God to my assistance: why do I not, therefore, make trial 
of her, as she promises to cure me, without any trouble, in 
so short a time?” | He said, therefore, to her, ‘But sup- 
pose you should prove mistaken, what would you forfeit 
for making me break my resolution?” She replied: ‘If 
your Majesty pleases, you may set a guard upon me; and 
if you are not cured in eight days, then burn me alive: but 
if I succeed, and you get well, what reward am I then to 
have?” The king, made answer: ‘‘You seem to be a 
maiden, I will dispose of you in marriage to a person of 


184 THE DECAMERON 


great account.” “Sir,” quoth she, “I accept your offer of a 
husband, but I will name the person, excepting all of your 
royal house.” He immediately promised, and she began to 
administer her medicines ; and before the limited time she 
had wrought a thorough cure. He then said, ‘‘ Fair maid, 
you have well earned a husband.” “Then, sir,” she replied, 
“T have gained the Count de Roussilon, whom I have 
loved ever since I was a child.” The king thought her 
demand very great, but, as he had given his word, he would 
not depart from it. He sent for him, therefore, and said 
to him, ‘‘Beltram, you are now of age to take upon you 
the government of your own country ; I consequently will 
that you return thither, and take a wife whom I shall re- 
commend to you.” ‘And who is the lady, sir?” replied 
Beltram. ‘It is she,” said the king, ‘‘who has cured’ me 
with her medicines.” Beltram knew and liked her well 
enough, only that he thought her extract too low for his 
quality; upon which he said, with some disdain, ‘* And 
does your Majesty then mean to give mea doctress for my 
wife? Surely I may do much better for myself.” ‘ Then,” 
quoth the king, ‘‘ would you have me worse than my word? 
She requested to have you, and I promised, upon condition 
that I was made well.” ‘* My liege,” replied he, ‘*you may 
take away what I now possess, or you may add to it if you 
please ; but this I assure your Majesty, that I will never 
consent to such a match.” ‘It is my pleasure to have it 
so,” continued the king; “she is a prudent and beautiful 
lady, and you may be happier with her, than if you were 
married to one of greater quality.” Beltram then held his 
peace ; and the king ordered a magnificent entertainment 
in honour of the nuptials, and, when'the day came, Beltram 
espoused her, much against his will, in the king’s presence, 
which being done, he took his leave of his Majesty, as if he 
was going to keep his wedding in his own country ; but, 
instead of that, he went a quite different way, and came 
to Tuscany, where he heard that the Florentines were 
at war with the Senesi, when he willingly joined them, 
and, having a command given him, he continued some 
time in their service. The bride, not at all pleased with 
his behaviour, went to Roussilon, in hopes of gaining his 


THIRD DAY 185 


affections by her prudent management, where she was 
received as their lady and mistress, and, finding everything 
in disorder, on account of her husband’s long minority, she 
used such care and diligence in restoring all to its wonted 
tranquillity, that she gained the favour and goodwill of her 
subjects, who blamed the count highly for his neglect of 
her. When that was done she sent two knights to him, 
to desire to know if it was on her account he stayed away 
from home; and to tell him that she was willing to go 
elsewhere to please him. But he answered roughly, that 
she might use her pleasure: “ For,” said he, “I will go to 
her only when she shall have this ring upon her finger, and 
a son, begotten by me, in her arms.” Now he valued the 
ring at a high rate, and never parted with it from his finger, 
because of some secret virtue which he supposed it to 
have. The knights looked upon the condition as implying 
two impossibilities ; and, perceiving that he was not to be 
moved from his resolution, they returned, and reported 
his answer. The lady was much afflicted at this, and began 
to consider if there were no way to effect these two 
points, and consequently regain her husband. Taking her 
measures then accordingly, she assembled all the principal 
people of the country, when she recounted to them, in a 
most tender and affectionate manner, all that she had done 
for the love of the count, and what ensued thereupon ; and 
she let them know, that it never was her intention, by 
staying amongst them, to keep him in perpetual banish- 
ment: wherefore she resolved to spend the remainder of 
her life in pilgrimage, for the good of her soul; and her 
desire was, that they would take the government upon 
them, and inform the count that she had quitted posses- 
sion, and left the country with a design never more to 
return. As she was speaking these words, they all began 
to weep, and they entreated her much to change her re- 
solution, but to no purpose. Taking her leave, then, and 
being attended with only a maid-servant and a relation, 
they set forward together like pilgrims, having provided 
themselves well with money and jewels; and, without any- 
body’s knowing whither they were gone, they made no stop 
till they came to Florence; there, by chance, they met 





¥, 





2 ” 


ty i 136 THE DECAMERON 


with an inn that was kept by a widow, where she stayed, 
_ with a desire of learning some news concerning her lord. 


_ The next day it happened that he passed by the house 
_ on horseback, along with his troop, when, though she knew 


_ him very well, yet she asked the landlady who he was? 


“Tt is a gentleman, a stranger,” answered she, “one of the 


_ city, who is in love with a gentlewoman of small fortune in 
_ this neighbourhood: she bears a good character, but is yet 


| best-natured men in the world, and much respected in this 
| 
| 
| 


unmarried, on account of her scanty circumstances, and 
lives with her mother.” The countess, upon hearing this, 
began to consider more fully of what she meant to do; 


and, inquiring the person’s name and where she lived, she 


2 = 


a oN Ss 


went one day to the house, and, after the usual salutation, 
told the old lady that she had a mind to speak to her: the 
other arose, and said, with all her heart. They then went 
into archamber by themselves, and sitting down together, 
the countess began in this manner: ‘‘ Madam, you seem to 


_ be as little obliged to fortune as myself; but perhaps it is 


now in your power to do us both a kindness.” » ‘The other 
replied that she should be very willing, if it could be done 
honestly. The countess added, “I put myself entirely into 
your hands; if you deceive me, you frustrate the purposes 
of both.”—‘*Speak out,” said the lady; ‘‘you shall find 
I never shall deceive you.” She then related her whole 
story, from beginning to end, part of which the old lady 
had heard from common report: and she added, “ You 
_now hear the two things which I am to compass to gain 


my husband, with regard to which there is no person in the 


_ world can serve me besides yourself, if it be true, as I am 
told, that he is violently in love with your daughter.”— 

| “Madam,” quoth the lady, ‘‘there is some appearance of 
the count’s liking my daughter; but whether there be any- 
thing real, that I cannot pretend to say. But what has this 





‘ to do with your affair? ”—‘‘ That,” answered she, ‘‘ I shall 


soon tell you. But you must first hear what I intend to do 
‘in consideration of this service of yours. I understand 
"that you have a daughter of age to marry, whom you are 
‘forced to keep at home with you, for want of a fortune to 


“ her: now my design is, to advance’ such a sum of 


14 


THIRD DAY 187 


money as you yourself shall think sufficient to marry her 
reputably.” The lady liked the offer very well, but yet, 
having the spirit of a gentlewoman, she replied: ‘“‘ Tell me 
what you want to have done, and if it appear fair and 
honest, I will do it most willingly, and leave the reward 
to you.” The countess then said: “You must give the 
count to understand, by some person whom you can trust, 
that your daughter is ready to oblige him as soon.as she 
can be assured that he has that real love for her which he 
pretends, and which she knows not how to credit, unless 
he’ sends her the ring that he usually wears, and which, 
she hears, he sets such a value upon, This ring you must 
give to me, and then you may let him know that your 
daughter is at his service, and that he may come privately 
hither as soon as he pleases, when you must put me to ‘bed 
to him instead of your daughter. Perhaps I may prove 
with child; so that, by having his ring on my finger, and 
a son of his in my arms, which were the two conditions 
required, I may live with him afterwards as my husband, 


and you may be the happy instrument of it.” The lady | 


was in some doubt at first, fearing some scandal might 
befall her daughter; but considering afterwards how fit it 
was that the good lady should have her husband, she there- 
fore promised her assistance, and in a few days obtained 
the ring, much against his will, and afterwards put the lady 
to bed to him instead of her daughter. Accordingly it 
happened that she became with child of two sons, as the 
event made manifest, which, as soon as she perceived, she 
said to the lady, ‘‘ Madam, my end is now answered, I have 
nothing more to do but to satisfy you for your trouble.” 
She replied: ‘‘If you are contented, it is well; I did it out 
of no expectation of reward, but only as it appeared to me 


quite a right thing.”—-‘‘ Madam,” continued the countess,’ 


‘JT am entirely pleased, and I intend to make you a recom- 
pense suitable to your great merit.” She then, moved by 
her necessity, desired, with the utmost modesty, a hundred 
pounds for her daughter’s portion: whilst the other, know- 
ing her great worth, and hearing her humble demand, gave 
her five hundred, and jewels to the amount of as much 
more, for which she was very thankful; and, to take away 





188 THE DECAMERON 


‘ all pretence of the count’s coming any more to her house, 


removed with her daughter to her friends in the country. 
In some time, Beltram, hearing that his countess had de- 
parted out of his territories, went thither, at the request of 


his subjects; whilst she stayed at Florence till her time of 


labour came, when she was brought to bed of two sons, 


- very like their father, whom she took care to have well 


nursed; and, in due time, without being discovered by 
any person, she came to Montpelier, where she made some 
stay, to rest herself and to make inquiry concerning her 
husband: when, hearing that he was to make a great feast 
at Roussilon, on the day of All Saints, she went thither in 





_ the same pilgrim’ s dress as she at first set out in; and, just 


as the guests were going to sit down at table, she pressed 
forwards through the midst of the crowd, both of gentle- 
men and ladies, with her two children in her arms, till, 
coming where the count was, she threw herself at his feet, 
_ Saying with tears, ‘‘ My lord, Iam your unhappy wife, who 
have undertaken a long pilgrimage, in order that you might 


return to your own house. I conjure you, in the presence 
_ of God, that you abide by the two conditions enjoined me 


by the two knights whom I sent fo you. Behold, not one 
son only of yours in my arms, but two; and see, here is the 
ring.” The count was confounded with admiration, know- 


_ ing the ring and seeing the children to be like him, and said : 


‘How can this be?” She then related the whole story 


ire. before all the company: whilst he, knowing her to speak 
_ the truth, perceiving also her constancy and good manage- 


ment, and beholding two such pretty children, to satisfy 


also his promise, as well as to oblige the whole company, 


~~ 


who requested him to take her as his wife; upon all these 


considerations, I say, he laid his inveterate hatred aside, 
and raised her up and saluted her, acknowledging her for 
his lawful countess and the two babes for his children: he 
ordered also suitable apparel to be brought for them, to the 
great joy of the whole court ; whilst the feasting continued 
not that day only but many others; and from that time he 
showed her all due respect, and they continued happy 
together as long as they lived. 





THIRD DAY 189 


NOVEL X 


A libech, a young girl desirous of becoming a Christian, travels to a desert 
to consult some holy men as to the best means of serving and pleasing 
God, Rusticus, a devout hermit, informs her that the Devil had 
escaped from hell, that nothing could be more acceptable to God than 
his being sent back again, and teaches her how to accomplish tt 
which she does with his pious assistance, to her great satisfaction. 


DionEvus who had listened attentively to the story just re- 
lated by the queen, perceiving that she had finished, and 
that it only remained for him to tell his, did not wait for 
their commands, but smiling, thus commenced :— 

Most gracious ladies, you may not have heard how the 
devil, having broke loose, was again replaced in hell, and 
I will, with very little deviation from the drift of all that 
has been spoken to-day, tell you how it occurred, as the 
knowledge of it may, peradventure, enable you to save 
your souls. _ Although love dwells in gorgeous palaces, and 
sumptuous apartments, more willingly than in miserable 
and desolate cottages, it cannot be denied but that he 
sometimes causes his power to be felt in the gloomy re- 
cesses of forests, among the most bleak and rugged moun- 
tains, and in the dreary caves of a desert; to comprehend 
which, we must believe that all things are subject to his 
power. Asa proof of the foregoing observations, I proceed 
with the following history. 

In the city of Capsa, in Barbary, there resided formerly 
a very rich man, who had, among other children, a daughter 
named Alibech, who was young, handsome, and docile. 
This girl was not a Christian, but hearing the Christian 
faith, and the serving of God much praised by the Chris- 
tians who were in that city, demanded of one of them in 
what manner, and how with the least interruption or 
trouble she could. serve God. She was informed that they 
served him best, who despised and fled from the vanities 
and things of this world, as did those who retired to the 
solitudes in the deserts in Thebais. The young girl, who 
was all simplicity, and not more perhaps than fourteen 


Uae Pye SS cll See) ee 


a 


Se ae BA, 


Rid 


Pera! 
Fig te 


TIT Re pene 


MEN a och 


be 


etapa oy 


SE en 


i ‘Z el 
she Sapa” Bip 


“90 THE DECAMERON 
"years of age, nor governed by a reasonable desire, but by 


the headstrong impulses of youth, without disclosing her 





_ intention, started secretly the next morning for the desert 
of Thebais. She arrived with great fatigue (her resolution 
having continued firm) at one of the solitary places, where, 
having discovered a little dwelling, she entered it, and 
found a holy man who marvelled much to see the like of 
_her, in such a place, and inquired the object of her journey. 
She replied, that inspired by God, she came to dedicate 
_herself to his service, and also to seek some one who could 
_ instruct her how she must serve Him. The holy man seeing 
her young and so beautiful, fearing that the devil might 
tempt him, if he detained her, commended highly her 
_ great devotion, and having given ‘her some roots and herbs, 
~ some wild apples and dates to eat, and some water to drink, 
said to her: “My child, not far from hence there lives a 
holy man who in such matters as you seek, is a greater 
_ master than I am, go you then to him ;” and he put her 
in the way, by which she came to the ‘cell of an hermit, 
named Rusticus, who was young and sufficiently pious and 
good. She made the same request to this one that she 
/ had to the other; and he, wishing to make a grand experi- 
ment of his firmness, instead of following the example of 
_the other by sending her away, retained her in this habita- 
tion, and at night made a bed of palm branches in one 
corner, that she might repose herself thereon. This done, 
the temptations of the flesh waited not a moment to oppose 
_ themselves to the strength of the: hermit ; who finding that 
_ he had been too long deceived by them, without receiving 
_too great an assault, gave himself up for. conquered, and 
‘setting aside divine thoughts, prayers, and discipline, began 
to ruminate on the youth and beauty of the fair pilgrim, 
and to devise by what ways and means he should accom- 
plish his purpose, in order that she might not consider him 
a dissolute man. Having in the first place, by certain in- 
_ terrogatories, ascertained that she was as simple as she 
appeared to be, and never had knowledge of man, it 
occurred to him that, under the pretext of ‘serving God, he 
could bring her to his desires.. He therefore began to 
explain to her, that the devil was the greatest enemy of 








THIRD DAY 19) 


our Lord, and that the service most pleasing to God, 
was to send the Devil back again to hell, where our 
Lord had condemned him. She demanded of him how 
this was to be: done, which he immediately proceeded to 
explain.? 

Alla quale Rustico disse: Tu il saprai tosto, e perd farai 
quello che a me far vedrai ; e cominciossi a spogliare quegli 
pochi vestimenti, che aveva, e rimase tutto ignudo, e cosi 
ancora fece la fanciulla, e posesi in ginocchione a guisa, 
che adorar volesse ; e dirimpetto a se fece star lei. . E cosi 
stando, essendo Rustico, piu che mai, nel suo. disidero 
acceso, per lo vederla cosi bella, venue la resurrezion della 
carne; la quale riguardando Alibech, e maravigliatasti, disse: 
Rustico, quella che cosa e, che io ti veggio, che cosi si pigne 
in fuori,e non |’ ho io? O figliuola mia, disse Rustico, 
questo e il diavolo, di che io t’ ho parlato, e vedi tu ora: 
egli mi da grandissima molestia, tanta, che io appena la 
posso sofferire. Allora disse la giovane.. O lodato sia 
Iddio, che 10 veggio, che io sto meglio, che non stai tu, 
che io non ho cotesto diavolo io. Disse Rustico, tu di 
vero ; ma tu hai un’ altra cosa, che non I’ ho io, et haila 
in iscambio di questo. Disse Alibech: O che? A cui 
Rustico disse: Hai |’ inferno; e dicoti, che io mi credo, 
che Dio t’ abbia qui mandata per la salute dell’ anima mia ; 
percioche, se questo diavolo pur mi dara questa noia, ove 
tu vogli aver di me tanta pieta, e sofferire, che io in inferno 
il rimetta; tu mi darai grandissima consolazione, et a Dio 
farai grandissimo piacere, e servigio; se tu per quello fare 
in queste parti venuta se’, che tu di.. La giovane di buona 
fede rispose O padre mio, poscia che io ho |’ inferno, sia 
pure quando vi piacera mettervi il diavolo. Disse allora 
Rustico: Figliuola mia benedetta sia tu: andiamo dunque, 
e rimettiamlovi si, che egli poscia mi lasci stare.. E cosi 
detto, menate la giovane sopra uno de’ loro letticelli, le 
’nsegno, come star si dovesse a dover incarcerare quel 
maladetto da Dio. La giovane, che mai piu non aveva 


1 The translators regret that the disuse into which magic has fallen, 
makes it impossible to render the technicalities of that mysterious art 
into tolerable English ; they have therefore found it necessary to insert 
several passages in the original Italian. 


192 THE DECAMERON 


in inferno messo diavolo alcuno, per la prima volta senti 
an poco di noia; perche ella disse a Rustico. 

Per certo, padre mio, mala cosa dee essere questo diavolo, 
e€ veramente nimico di Iddio che ancora all’ inferno, non 
che altrui duole quando, egli v’ e dentro rimesso. Disse 
Rustico: Figliuola, egli non averra sempre cosi: e per 
fare, che questo non ayvenisse, da sei volte anziche di su 
il letticel si movesero, ve ’l rimisero; tantoche per quella 
volta gli trasser si la superbia del capo, che egli si stette 
volentieri in pace. Ma ritornatagli poi nel seguente tempo 
piu volte, e la giovane ubbidente sempre a trargliela si 
disponesse, avvenne, che il giuoco le comincio a piacere; 
e comincio a dire a Rustico. Ben veggio, che il ver 
dicevano que valenti uomini in Capsa, che il servire a Dio 
era cosi dolce cosa, e per certo io non mi ricordo, che mai 
alcuna altra ne facessi, che di tanto diletto, € piacere mi 
fosse, quanto e il rimettere il diavolo in inferno; e percio 
giudico ogn’ altra persona, che ad altro che a servire a 
Dio attende, essere una bestia. Per la qual cosa essa 
spesse volte andava a Rustico, e gli diceva. Padre mio, 
io son qui venuta per servire a Dio, e non per istare oziosa ; 
andiamo a rimittere il diavolo in inferno. La qual cosa 
faccendo, diceva ella alcuna volta. Rustico, io non so 
perche il diavolo si fugga di ninferno, che s’ egli vi stesse 
cosi volentieri, come |’ inferno il riceve, e tiene; egli non 
sene uscirebbe mai. Cosi adunque invitando spesso la 
giovane Rustico, et al servigio di Dio confortandolo, si la 
bambagia del farsetto tratta gli avea, che egli a talora 
sentiva freddo, che un’ altro sarebbe sudato; e percio 
egli incomincio a dire alla giovane, che il diavolo non 
era da gastigare, ne da rimettere in inferno, se non quando 
egli per superbia levasse il capo; e noi, per la grazia, di 
Dio, l’ abbiamo si sgannato, che egla priega Iddio di starsi 
in pace: e cosi alquanto impose di silenzio alla giovane. 
La qual, poiche vide che Rustico non la richiedeva a 
dovere il diavolo rimittere in inferno, gli disse un giorno. 
Rustico, se il-diavolo tuo e gastigato, e piu non ti da noia 
me il mio ninferno non lascia stare: perche tu farai bene, 
che tu col tuo diavolo aiuti ad attutare la rabbia al mio 
inferno; come io col mio ninferno ho ajutato a trarre la 


THIRD . DAY 193 


superbia al tuo diavolo Rustico, che di radici d’ erbe, e 
d’ acqua vivea, potea male rispondere alle poste, e dissele, 
che troppi diavoli vorrebbono essere a potere |’ inferno 
attutare: ma che egli ne farebbe cio, che per lui si potesse ; 
e cosi alcuna volta le sodisfaceva: ma si era di rado, che 
altro non era che gittare una fava in bocca al leone. Da 
che la giovane, non parendole tanto servire a Dio, quanto 
voleva, mormorava, anzi, che no. Ma mentre che tra il 
diavolo di Rustico, e l’inferno d’ Alibech era, per troppo 
disiderio, e per men potere, questa questione. 

Some time after a dreadful fire broke out in the city of 
Capsa and destroyed the father of Alibech, in his own 
house, with the rest of his children, by which circumstance 
she became sole heir to very considerable property. There 
was in this city a young man named Neherbal, who had 
spent in wanton extravagance all his wealth, and knowing 
that Alibech was alive, immediately commenced a search 
after her, in hopes of finding her before her property was 
dissipated by others. His exertions were such that he 
found her and brought her to Capsa against her own 
consent, but to the great relief of poor Rusticus. Neherbal 
took Alibech to wife, but being in conversation with some 
ladies of the city before that she had slept with her hus- 
band, they asked in what manner she served God in the 
desert. She said she served God by replacing the Devil 
into hell, and that Neherbal had been guilty of a great 
crime in having taken her away from such service. The 
ladies wished to know in what manner she replaced the 
Devil in hell. Alibech, as well by words as by gestures, 
endeavoured to show them, which made them burst into 
a fit of laughter, and say to her, be not melancholy, my 
child, for they know well enough how to do that here. 
Neherbal will serve God well with you. They related this 
among themselves throughout the city, and it became in 
time a common proverb, ‘‘that the most agreeable service 
we could render God, was to replace the Devil in hell.” 
The proverb has passed from thence across the sea to us, 
and exists to the present day. 

By this, you young ladies, to whom the grace of God is 
necessary, may learn to put the Devil into hell, because it 

G 


194 THE DECAMERON 


is very agreeable to God; it affords exquisite pleasure to 
both parties embarked in such devotions; and much good 
will grow out of it and follow it. 

Dioneus having finished his story, and the queen know- 
ing her sovereignty to be now at an end, took the crown 
from her head, and placed it upon Philostratus, saying, 
““We shall soon see whether the wolves govern the sheep © 
better than the sheep have hitherto governed the wolves.” 
He returned, with a smile, ‘‘You have no more right to 
call us wolves, than you have to call yourselves sheep: 
however, I take upon me the command.” Giving the proper 
orders then to the steward, as to what he would have done, 
he turned about to the ladies, and said :—“ It has been my 
misfortune, ever since I was able to judge of anything, to 
be always in love with one or other of you ladies: nor 
has it availed me in the least that I have been humble, 
obedient, and desirous of pleasing to the utmost of my 
power; for I have constantly been discarded at last for 
some other lover, going still from better to worse, and so 
I expect to continue till I go to my grave. Therefore I 
intend that our subject for this day shall be something 
suitable to my own case; namely, concerning those persons 
whose amours have had an unfortunate conclusion.” Having 
said this, he gave them leave to depart. The garden was 
so pleasant, that every one chose to walk thither, especially 
as the sun was going down, where some diverted them- 
selves with observing and running after the kids, rabbits, 
and other creatures, that were skipping about them. 
Dioneus and Flammetta sat together singing the song of 
Gulielmo and the Lady of Virtue. Philomena and Pam- 
philus played at chess. And thus they were all differently 
employed till the time of supper, which came upon them 
a little unexpected: when, the table being spread by the 
side of the fountain, they supped with a great deal of 
pleasure. As soon as the cloth was taken away, Philo- 
stratus, not to go out of the path which had been followed 
by the queens who had gone before him, commanded 
Lauretta to begin a dance with a song, who replied, ‘‘ May 
it please your Majesty, I know nothing of other people’s 
songs, nor my own at present, which would. please so 


THIRD .DAY 195 


agreeable a set of company: but, if you will accept of 
such an one as I can call to mind, I will do it with a great 
deal of pleasure:” when the king made answer, ‘‘ Nothing 
of yours can be disagreeable; sing such as you have.” She 
then began with a musical voice, but in a desponding 
manner, thus: 


SONG 
CHORUS 


Who can with so much cause complain, 
As I, who love and sigh in vain? 


I 


He whose almighty word hath taught to move 
The heavens, and every star above ; 
Hath made me as you see, 
All brisk and debonair, that I might be 
A pattern of perfection priz’d 5 
Yet I’m despised. 


Who can, &c. 
II 


I heretofore 
Was by a fond admirer made to prove 
The soft persuasive force of love ; 
Swift passed the hours of transport thus divine, 
Whilst all his wishes, all his thoughts were mine 
But he’s no more, 


Who can, &c. 
III 


One more morose and vain 
Next made his court ; 
But from report 
He jealous soon became ; 
And falsely left me in distress, 
Tho’ conscious then I was, 
That charms like mine, for gen’ral view designed, 
Were to that lover’s wishes still confin’d : 


Who can, &c. 


196 THE DECAMERON 


IV 


For ever be that day accurst, 
When to commence a bride, 

I laid my sable weeds aside, 

Which dress so well became me first 3 
Thrice happy damsel, had I died 
Before that fatal change I tried, 


Who can, &c. 
Vv 


And thou, my dearest lover, once, and friend, 
Who, with the saints above, 

Enjoy’st the fruits of virtue and of love, 

My pray’r attend ! 

Amidst the sweet repose, which now you find, 
Think on me, poor distressed maid ; 
And nature’s final debt when paid, 

May we then meet, and be for ever joined. | 


Who can with so much cause complain, 
As I, who love and sigh in vain? 


When this song was ended, lighted torches were brought, 
and set upon the grass; and they continued, till the stars 
began to go down, singing and making merry. Then the 
king thought it time for them to depart, and, wishing 
one another good night, they retired to their respective 
chambers. 


THE FOURTH DAY 


THE sun had now driven all the stars from the heavens, 
and dispelled the vapours of the night from the earth, when 
Philostratus arose, and ordered all the company to be 
called. They walked then into the garden, and dined, 
when the time came, where they had supped the preceding 
night. ‘Taking a nap afterwards, whilst the sun was at its 
height, they returned at the usual time to the fountain side. 
Here Philostratus commanded Flammetta to begin, who 
spoke in a soft agreeable manner, as follows. 


NOVELI 


Tancred, Prince of Salerno, puts his daughter's lover to death, and 
sends his heart to her in a golden cup; she pours water upon tt 
which she had poisoned, and so dies. 


Our king has given us a most melancholy subject for 
this day’s discourse ; considering, that as we came hither 
to be merry, we must now recount other people’s mis- 
fortunes, which cannot be related without moving com- 
passion, as well in those who tell as in those who hear 
them. Perhaps it is designed as an alloy to the mirth of 
the preceding days. But whatever his reason may be for it, 
I have no business to make any alteration with regard to 
his pleasure, I shall, therefore, mention an unhappy story 
to you, worthy of your most tender compassion. 

Tancred, prince of Salerno, was a most humane and 
generous lord, had he not in his old age defiled his hands 
in a lover’s blood. He, through the whole course of his 
life, had one only daughter ; and happy had he been not to 

197 


198 THE DECAMERON 


have possessed her. No child could be more dear to a 
parent than she was, which made him loth to part with 
her in marriage: at length, not till she was a little advanced 
in years, he married her to the Duke of Capoa, when she 
was soon left a widow, and came home again to her father. 
She was a lady of great beauty and understanding, and 
continuing thus in the court of her father, who took no 
care to marry her again; and it seeming not so modest 
in her to ask it, she resolved at last to have a lover 
privately. Accordingly she made choice of a person of 
low parentage but noble qualities, whose name was Guiscard, 
with whom she became violently in love: and by often 
seeing him, and evermore commending his manner and 
behaviour, he soon became sensible of it, and devoted him- 
self entirely to the love of her. Affecting each other thus 
in secret, and she desiring nothing so much as to be 
with him, and not daring to trust any person with the 
affair, contrived a new stratagem in order to apprise him of 
the means. She wrote a letter, wherein she mentioned 
what she would have him do the next day for her ; this she 
put into a hollow cane, and giving it to him one day, 
she said, pleasantly, ‘‘ You may make a pair of bellows of 
this for your servant to blow the fire with this evening.” 
He received it, supposing very justly that it had some 
meaning: and, taking it home, found the letter; which, 
when he had thoroughly considered, and knew what he 
had to do, he was the most overjoyed man that could 
be; and he applied himself accordingly to answer het . 
assignation, in the manner she had directed him. On one 
side of the palace, and under a mountain, was a grotto, 
which had been made time out of mind, and into which no 
light could come but through a little opening dug in thé 
mountain, and which, as the grotto had been long in 
disuse, was grown over with briars and thorns. Into 
this grotto was a passage by a private staircase, out of one 
of the rooms of the palace, which belonged to the lady’s 
apartment, and was secured by a very strong door. © This 
passage was so far out of every one’s thoughts, having been 
disused for so long a time, that nobody remembered 
anything about it: but love, whose notice nothing can 


FOURTH DAY 199 


escape, brought it fresh into the mind of the enamoured 
lady; who, to keep this thing entirely private, laboured 
some days before she could get the door open; when, 
having gone down into the cave and observed the opening, 
and how high it might be from thence to the bottom, 
she acquainted him with the fact. Guiscard then provided 
a ladder of cords; and casing himself well with leather, to 
be defended from the thorns, fixing one end of the ladder 
to the stump of a tree which was near, he slid down by the 
help of it to the bottom, where he stayed expecting the 
lady. The following day, therefore, having sent her maids 
out of the way, under pretence that she was going to lie 
down, and locking herself up alone in her chamber, she 
opened the door and descended into the grotto, where they 
met to their mutual satisfaction. From thence she showed 
him the way to her chamber, where they were together the 
greatest part of the day, and, taking proper measures for 
the time to come, he went away through the cave and she 
returned to her maids. The same he did the next night, 
and he followed this course for a considerable time, when 
fortune, as if she envied them their happiness, thought fit 
to change their mirth into mourning. Tancred used some- 
times to come into his daughter’s chamber, to pass a little 
time away with her; and going thither one day after dinner, 
whilst the lady, whose name was Ghismond, was with her 
maids in the garden; and, being perceived by no one, nor 
yet willing to take her from her diversion, finding also the 
window shut and the curtains drawn to the foot of the bed, 
he threw himself down in a great chair, which stood in 2 
corner of the room, leaning his head upon the bed, and 
drawing the curtain before him, as if he concealed himself 
on purpose, when he chanced to fall asleep. In the mean- 
time, Ghismond, having made an appointment with her 
lover, left the maids in the garden and came into her 
chamber, which she secured, not thinking of any person 
being there, and went to meet Guiscard, who was in the 
cave waiting for her, and brought him into her chamber; 
when her father awoke, and was a witness to: all that 
passed between them. This was the utmost affliction to 
him, and he was about to cry out, but upon second thoughts 


200 THE DECAMERON 


he resolved to keep it private if possible, that he might be 
able to do more securely, and with less disgrace, what he 
had resolved upon. The lovers stayed together their usual 
time, without perceiving anything of Tancred, who, after 
they were departed, got out of the window into the garden, 
old as he was, and went, without being seen by any one,’ 
very sorrowful to his chamber. The next night, according 
to his orders, Guiscard was seized by two men.as he was 
coming out of the cave, and carried by them in his leathern 
doublet to Tancred, who, as soon as he saw him, said, with 
tears in his eyes, ‘‘ Guiscard, you have ill requited my kind-. 
ness towards you by this outrage and shame which you 
have brought upon me, and of which this very day I have 
been an eye-witness.” When he made no other answer 
but this: ‘‘Sir, love hath greater power than either you 
or I.” Tancred then ordered a guard to be set over him. 
And fhe next day he went to his daughter's apartment as 
usual, she knowing nothing of what had happened, and, 
shutting the door that they might be private together, he 
said to her, weeping, ‘‘ Daughter, I had such an opinion of 
your modesty and virtue that I could never have believed, 
had I not seen it with my own eyes, that you would have 
violated either, even so much as in thought. My reflecting 
on this will make the pittance of life that is left very grievous 
to me. As you were determined to act in that manner, 
would to Heaven you had made choice of a person more 
suitable to your own quality; but for this Guiscard, he is 
one of the very meanest persons about my court. This © 
gives me such concern that I scarcely know what to do. 
As for him, he was secured by my order last night, and his 
fate is determined. But, with regard to yourself, I am 
influenced by two different motives; on one side the 
tenderest regard that a father can have for a child, and on 
the other the justest vengeance for the great folly you have 
committed. One pleads strongly in your behalf, and the 
other would excite me to do an act contrary to my nature. 
But, before I come to a resolution, I would hear what you 
have to say for yourself.” And when he had said this, he 
hung down his head and wept like a child. 

She, hearing this from her father, and perceiving that 


FOURTH DAY 201 


their amour was not only discovered, but her lover in 
prison, was under the greatest concern imaginable, and 
was going to break out into loud and grievous lamenta- 
tions, as is the way of women in distress; but getting the 
better of this weakness, and putting on a settled coun- 
tenance, as, supposing Guiscard was dead, and being 
resolved firmly in her own mind not to outlive him, she 
spoke therefore with all the composure in the world to this 
purpose: “Sir, to deny what I have done, or to entreat 
any favour of you, is no part of my design at present; for 
as the one can avail me nothing, so I intend the other 
shall be of little service. I will take no advantage of. your 
love and tenderness towards me; but shall first, by an 
open confession, endeavour to vindicate myself, and then 
do what the greatness of my soul prompts me to. ’Tis 
most true that I have loved, and do still love, Guiscard: 
and whilst I live, which will not be long, shall continue to 
love him; and if such a thing as love be after death, even 
that shall not dissolve it. To this I was induced by no 
frailty, so much as his superior virtue, and the little care 
you took to marry me again. I preferred him before all 
the world: and as to the meanness of his station, to which 
you so much object, that is more the fault of fortune, who 
often raises the most unworthy to a high estate, neglecting 
those of greater merit. We are all formed of the same 
materials, and by the same hand. The first difference 
amongst mankind was made by virtue; they who were 
virtuous were deemed noble, and the rest were all ac- 
counted otherwise. Though this law therefore may have 
been obscured by contrary custom, yet is it discarded 
neither by nature nor good manners. If you then alone 
regard the worth and virtue of your courtiers, and consider 
that of Guiscard, you will find him the only noble person, 
and the others a set of poltroons. With regard to his 
worth and valour, I appeal to yourself. Who ever com- 
mended man more for everything that was praiseworthy, 
than you have commended him? and deservedly in my 
judgment; but if I was deceived, it was by following your 
opinion. If you say, then, that I have had an affair with 
a person base and ignoble, I deny it; if with a poor one, 
G2 


202 THE DECAMERON 


it is to your shame, to let such merit go unrewarded 
Now concerning your last doubt, namely, how you are to 
deal with me; use your pleasure. If you are disposed to 
commit an act of cruelty, I shall say nothing to prevent 
such a resolution. But this I must apprise you of, that 
unless. you do the same to me, which you either have done, 
or mean to do to Guiscard, my own hands shall do it for 
you. Reserve your tears then for women: and if you 
mean to act with severity, cut us off both together, if it 
appear to you that we have deserved it.” The prince 
knew full well the greatness of her soul: but yet he could 
by no means persuade himself that she would have resolu- 
tion enough to do what her words seemed to threaten. 
Leaving her then, with a design of being favourable to 
her, and intending to wean her affection from her lover 
by taking him off; he gave orders to the two men, who 
guarded him, to strangle him privately in the night, and 
to take his heart out of his body, and bring it to him. 
Accordingly they executed his commands, and the next 
day he called for a golden cup, and putting the heart into 
it, he had it conveyed by a trusty servant to his daughter, 
with this message: ‘‘ Your father sends this present to 
comfort you, with what was most dear to you; even as he 
was comforted by you, in what was most dear to him.” 
She had departed from her father, not at all moved as to 
her resolution, and therefore had prepared the juices of 
some poisonous plants, which she had mixed with water, 
to be at hand if what she feared should come to pass. 
When the servant had delivered the present, and reported 
the message according to his order, she took the cup with- 
out changing countenance, and seeing the heart therein, 
and knowing by the words that it must be Guiscard’s, she 
looked steadfastly at the servant, and said, ‘‘ My father has 
done very wisely ; such a heart as this requires no worse a 
sepulchre than that of gold.” And upon this she lifted it 
to her mouth and kissed it, thus continuing: “‘ All my life 
long, even to this last period of it, have I found my father’s 
love most abundant towards me, but now more than ever; 
therefore return him in my name the last thanks that I 
shall ever be able to give him for such a present.” Look- 


FOURTH DAY 203 


ing then towards the cup, which she held fast in her hand, 
she said: “Alas! the dearest end and centre of all. my 
wishes! Cursed be the cruelty of him, by whom these 
eyes now see you; although my soul hath long viewed and 
known you. You have finished your course; such an one 
indeed as fortune has thought fit to allot you; you are 
arrived at the goal to which we all tend; you have left the 
miseries of this world far behind, and have obtained such 
a sepulchre from your very enemy as your merit required. 
Nothing remained to make your obsequies complete, but 
the tears of her who was so dear to you whilst you were 
living: and which, that you should not now want, Heaven 
put it into the mind of my relentless father to send you to 
me. And you shall have them, though I had proposed to 
die unmoved, and without shedding a tear; and when I 
have done, I will instantly join my soul to yours: for in 
what other company can I go better and safer to those 
unknown regions? as J make no doubt your soul is hover- 
ing here, expecting mine.” When she had done speaking, 
she shed a flood of tears, kissing the heart a thousand 
times; whilst the damsels who were about her knew neither 
what heart it was, nor what those her words imported: but 
being moved with pity, they joined with her, begging to 
know the cause of her grief, and endeavouring all they 
could to comfort her. After she had lamented as much 
as she thought proper, she raised up her head, and wiping 
her eyes, said, “‘Thou heart most dearly beloved, all my 
duty is now performed towards thee ; nothing more remains 
but for my soul to accompany thine.” Upon this she bade 
them reach the vessel of water, which she had prepared 
the day before, and pouring it into the cup with the heart, 
which she had sufficiently washed with her tears, she drank 
it all off without the least dread or apprehension, and 
threw herself upon the bed with the cup in her hand, com- 
posing her body as decently as she could, and pressing her 
lover’s heart to hers, she lay without uttering a word more, 
expecting death. The maids, when they saw this, though 
they knew not what it was she had drunk, sent to acquaint 
Tancred ; who, fearing what had really happened, came 
into the room soon after she had laid herself down, and 


204 THE DECAMERON 


finding it was too late, began to lament most grievously : 
she then said to him, “Sir, save these tears against worse 
fortune that may happen, for I want them not. Who but 
yourself would mourn for a thing of your own doing? 
But if any part of that love now remain in you, which you 
once had for me, the last request I shall make is, that as 
you would not suffer us to be happy together whilst living, 
that our two bodies (wherever you have disposed of his) 
may be publicly interred together when dead.” Extreme 
grief would suffer him to make no reply: when finding her- 
self drawing near her end, she strained the heart strongly 
to her breast, saying, ‘‘ Receive us, Heaven, I die!” ‘Then 
closing her eyes, all sense forsook her, and she departed 
this miserable life. Such an end had the amours of Guis- 
card and Ghismond, as you have now heard; whilst the 
prince, repenting of his cruelty when it was too late, had 
them buried in one grave in the most public manner, to 
the general grief of all the people of Salerno. 


NOVEL II 


Friar Albert makes a woman believe that an angel is in love with her, 
and in that shape deceives her. Afterwards, for fear of her rela- 
tions, he throws himself out of the window, and takes shelter in a 
poor man’s house; who exposes him the mext day in the public 
market-place in the form of a wild man; when he ts discovered by 
two friars, and put into prison, 


THE story related by Flammetta drew tears several times 
from the eyes of all the company; but it being now finished, 
the king, looking gravely, said, ‘I would have given my 
life willingly to have enjoyed but half the pleasure which 
these lovers met with. Nor need you wonder at that, be- 
cause I undergo a thousand deaths daily, without the least 
pleasure whatever in return. But letting my fortune alone 
for the present, it is my will that Pampinea proceed; who, 
if she goes on as Flammetta has begun, I shall expect 
to receive some small degree of comfort more to my 
affliction.” , 

Pampinea, finding herself fixed upon for the next, and 


FOURTH DAY 205 


having more regard to the inclination of the company, 
which she very well knew, than the king’s command, and 
more desirous of diverting them than of satisfying his 
melancholy temper, resolved upon a novel which would 
make them laugh, keeping still to the subject proposed :— 
It is a common saying, said she, that a wicked man, whe 
has the reputation of being virtuous and good, may do 
many bad things, and nobody believe it. This affords 
ample matter for discourse, and a fit handle for me to 
show how great the hypocrisy is of some of the religious, 
who have their garments long and large; their faces made 
pale artificially, and on purpose; their language meek and 
humble, to get men’s goods from them ; yet sour and harsh 
enough in reproving them of those vices of which they 
themselves are guilty ; whilst they pretend that they them- 
selves merit heaven as much by receiving as the others do 
_ by giving. Who also, not as if they were to get thither 
_ by their own endeavours, but as though they were the 
possessors and lords of it, portion out to every person that 
dies a better or worse place therein, according to the sum 
of money. bequeathed to them; deceiving themselves in 
the first place, if they really mean what they say, and those 
afterwards who put their trust in them. Of whom, might 
I have the liberty of speaking all I know, I could quickly 
disclose to many simple people what wickedness is too 
often concealed under that holy habit. I could wish, 
however, that the same success might attend the hypocrisy 
of them all, as befell a certain friar, who was concerned in 
some of the best families in Venice, the relation of which 
may prove some diversion to you, after your grief for the 
death of Ghismond. 

There lived at Imola a man of a very bad life, called 
Berto della Massa, whose evil works had gained him such 
a character there, that nobody could believe him even when 
he spoke the truth, Finding, therefore, that all his quirks 
and cunning would stand him in no further stead at Imola, 
he removed, in a kind of despair, to Venice, the common 
receptacle of all sorts of wickedness, when he resolved to 
manage in a quite different manner from what he had 
done; and, as if he felt some remorse of conscience for 


206 THE DECAMERON 


his past life, pretending also to be seized with uncommon 
zeal and devotion, he turned friar, calling himself Father 
Albert of Imola. In'this habit he seemed to lead a mighty 
sanctified life, highly commending penance and abstinence, 
and eating no flesh and drinking no wine; but then it was 
when he could get neither to please him. Besides this, 
when he was officiating at the altar at any time, if he was 
taken notice of by many people, he would be sure to weep 
over our Saviour’s passion, having tears enough at com- 
mand whenever he pleased. To be short, what with his 
preaching and crying together, he had so far insinuated 
himself into the good graces of the people of Venice, that 
there was scarcely a will made but he was left executor ; he 
had the care also and disposal of many people’s money ; 
and was the great adviser and confessor to the greatest 
part both of men and women ; so that from a wolf he became 
the shepherd, and the fame of his sanctity was greater than 
ever was that of St. Francis. Now it happened that a vain 
simple lady, named Lisetta de Ca Quirino, wife to a mer- 
chant, who was gone a voyage to Flanders, came one day, 
with some other women, to confess to this holy friar; and 
being asked, as she was confessing, if she had a lover; 
replied, putting on an angry countenance, “‘ What! father, 
have you no eyes in your head? Where do you see a 
woman so handsome as myself? I could have lovers 
enough; but my beauty is designed for none of them; it 
is fit only to appear in heaven itself.” Using many more 
expressions of that sort, enough to give any one a surfeit 
to hear them, Father Albert immediately saw her blind 
side, and thought her fit game for his purpose, but deferred 
using any flattering speeches till a more convenient oppor- 
tunity; to show himself, however, holy for that time, he 
began to reprove her, telling her it was vain-glory, and so 
forth. Whereupon she called him brute, and told him he 
could not distinguish beauty when he saw it. He then, 
not to provoke her too far, took her confession, and dis- 
missed her. A little time after, taking a friend with him 
whom he could trust, to the house, he went with her to 
one side of the hall, where nobody could see them, and 
falling down upon his knees, said, ‘“‘ Madam, I must beg, for 


FOURTH DAY 207 


Heaven’s sake, that you would forgive me for blaspheming 
your beauty as I did last Sunday; since I was so chastised 
the following night for it, that I could not rise out of my 
bed before to-day.” ‘‘ And who,” quoth the foolish lady, 
‘chastised youin that manner?” ‘I will tell you,” replied 
Albert; “as I was saying my prayers that night, according 
to my usual manner, suddenly a great light shone around 
me, and, as I turned about to see what it was, a beautiful 
youth appeared, with a staff in his hand, who took hold of 
my hood, and threw me down upon the floor, and beat 
me in such a manner that I was almost killed. Upon my 
asking what all that correction was for, he made answer, 
‘Because thou didst so saucily presume to reprove the 
celestial beauty of Madam Lisetta, whom I love above all 
things in the world.’ ‘And who are you then?’ I de- 
manded. He replied, ‘I am an angel.’ ‘I humbly beg 
then,’ quoth I, ‘that you would forgive me.’ He answered, 
‘I do forgive you, upon condition that you go the very 
first opportunity to her, and obtain her pardon: and unless 
she thinks fit to excuse you, I shall return, and give you 
such discipline as you shall feel as long as you live.’ What 
he said more I dare not speak, unless I have your forgive- 
ness.” The simple woman, who was puffed up till she was 
fit to burst with vanity, gave ear to this ridiculous story, 
and said, ‘I told you, Father Albert, that my beauties 
were of the celestial kind; I am sorry for what you have 
suffered, and heartily forgive you; but tell me what the 
angel said besides.” ‘‘That I will,” said he; “but one 
thing I must enjoin you, namely, that you tell it to no 
person living, unless you have a mind to ruin all; for you 
are certainly the happiest woman on the face of the earth. 
He told me, then, that he had such a regard for you, that 
he should frequently come to visit you, if he thought you 
would not be too much terrified. He bid me tell you, 
therefore, that he should come some evening in human 
shape, and would know from you when you would choose 
to see him, and whose form and person you would have 
him assume.” She replied that she approved of it very 
well, that she should be alone this evening, and that what- 
ever form and manner he came in, she should not be 


208 THE DECAMERON 


afraid. ‘‘ Madam,” he continued, ‘‘ you talk well, it shall 
be done as you have agreed; but I have a favour to beg, 
which will cost you nothing, it is that he may put on my 
person: my soul will be in a kind of trance in the mean- 
time, as it will be then disengaged from the body.” “I 
consent with all my heart,” answered she; ‘it will be some 
amends for the blows you have received.” § “ But,” said 
he, “the door must be open, otherwise, as he comes in 
human shape, he would not be able to enter your house.” 
She promised it should be done, and when night came he 
went to a woman’s house, that he used to frequent when 
he had such affairs in hand, where, getting his sham wings 
and other accoutrements ready, he came flying at last into 
the lady’s chamber. He stayed with her all that night, 
and at break of day went out in the same manner as he 
came in; whilst the lady was so proud of her gallant, that 
she could not help boasting of it to one of her neighbours, 
who was so tickled with the story, that she told it amongst 
a whole company of gossips, who again reporting it to 
others, in less than two days it was known all over Venice. 
Her relations heard of it, amongst the rest, who, for several 
nights together, kept constant. watch, to make a discovery, 
if possible, of this angel. One night, accordingly, he was 
coming to reprimand her for making it public, and had no 
sooner got into the room, and stripped himself of his wings, 
and other habiliments, but they were at the door! which 
he perceiving, and seeing no other way to escape, opened 
the casement that was over the great canal, and threw him- 
self directly into it. 

As the river was deep and he able to swim, he received 
no harm; espying then a cottage on the other side with 
the door open he made towards it, and, entering, entreated 
the honest man, telling him a thousand lies concerning the 
reason of his coming there in that manner, and, at that 
time, to save his life; who, being moved with pity, and 
having some affairs which called him away for a time, 
desired him to go into his bed and lie there till he should | 
return; he locked him then in the house, and went about 
his business. The lady’s relations, upon coming into 
her chamber, found that the angel had left his wings, and 


FOURTH DAY 209 


flown away without them. They gave her, therefore, a 
Severe reprimand, calling her all the vile simple women in 
the world; and they carried off the angel’s implements 
along with them. In the meantime, as soon as it was day, 
the man, being on the other side of the Rialto, heard the 
whole story of a fellow’s personating an angel to be with 
Lisetta, and how he was discovered by her relations and 
forced to leap into the canal, and that nobody knew what 
was become of him; whence he concluded that it must be 
the same man he had in his house. Finding this upon 
his coming home to be the fact, after some discourse 
together, he made him send home for five hundred ducats, 
threatening otherwise to deliver him up to the woman’s 
friends, when, after the money was brought and the friar 
desirous of getting away, the honest man said further to 
him, *‘I see no way for your escape but one; to-day we 
make a great rejoicing, when one person is to bring a man 
_ clothed like a bear, another like a wild man, and so on; 
and in that manner people are to come under different 
disguises into St. Mark’s Place, as to a hunt; and when 
the diversion is over, every. man leads away the person 
that he brings to what quarter he pleases. Now if, before 
any one knows that you are here, you will consent to be 
led in one of those disguises, I will carry you afterwards 
where you will; otherwise I do not see how you can get 
away without being observed, for the relations are every- 
where out upon the scout for you.” This seemed a hard 
sentence to the father, but his fear of being discovered was 
so great that he consented at last: accordingly he was 
besmeared all over with honey, and covered all over with 
down; and putting a chain about his neck and a vizard 
upon his face, with a great stick in one hand and a couple 
of butcher’s mastiffs in the other, a man was sent before to 
the Rialto, to make public proclamation that all who had a 
mind to see the angel so much talked of might repair to 
St. Mark’s Place; which was a Venetian trick at best.— 
When that was done, he was led forth, and all the way as 
he was carried along there was a great outcry of the people, 
wondering what thing it was; and being brought into the 
great square, what with the people that followed and those 


aa THE DECAMERON 


that flocked hither upon hearing the proclamation, the 
crowd was immensely great. The fellow then tied his 
wild man to a pillar, pretending to wait till the sport 
began; in the meantime the flies and wasps, as he was 
bedaubed with honey, began to grow exceedingly trouble- 
some to him. Perceiving at last the square sufficiently 
crowded, under pretence of turning him loose, he took off 
the vizard, and said, ‘Gentlemen, as I find we are to have 
no other sport to-day, I intend to show you the angel 
which used to come at nights to visit the Venetian ladies.” 
No sooner was the vizard removed than they knew him to 
be Father Albert, and there was a most terrible outcry 
against him, every one pelting him with whatever filthiness 
came to their hands, till at length the news reached the 
convent, when two of his brethren came and brought him 
one of their habits and carried him away with the utmost 
difficulty, and he was consequently thrown into prison, 
where he ended his days in a miserable manner. It was 
thus this man’s consummate hypocrisy and blasphemy met 
with their due reward; and may the like fate attend all 
such villains as himself ! 


NOVEL III 


Three young men fall in love with three sisters, and fly with them into 
Crete. The eldest destroys her lover out of jealousy; and the 
second, by consenting to the Duke of Crete’s request, is the means 
of saving her sister's life: afterwards her lover kills her, and goes 
away with the eldest sister. The third couple ts charged with 
her death, which they confess, and afterwards fee their keepers, 
and, making their escape, die at Rhodes at last in great necessity. 


WHEN Philostratus heard the conclusion of Pampinea’s 
novel, he stood some time in suspense, and at last, turning 
towards her, he said, 

“There was something good in the end of your story, 
but the beginning was much too ludicrous.” Then, 
pointing to Lauretta, he added, “Do you go on with a 
better if you can.” ‘She smilingly replied, You are too 
hard upon poor lovers to desire that their affairs should 


FOURTH DAY 211 


always end unfortunately. Nevertheless I shall, in com- 
pliance with your orders, give an account of three persons 
who were equally unhappy that way, and thus I proceed :— 
Every vice, as you very well know, may turn not only to 
the disadvantage of such as are subject to it, but of others 
also: and of all vices anger is that which hurries us along 
most blindly to our ruin. Now this passion seems to be 
a sudden and rash emotion, raised in us by an injury 
received ; which, driving away all sense and reason, and 
veiling the eyes of our understanding, kindles in our souls 
a most violent fury. And as men are governed by it too 
often, though some more than others, yet is it of worse 
consequence in women, as it is more easily kindled in 
them, and burns also with a more fierce and lasting flame. 
Nor is this to be wondered at, for fire, in its own nature, is 
apt to take hold the soonest of such things as are of the 
lightest consistence, and our texture, we know, is much 
more delicate than that of men. Seeing, therefore, how 
prone we are to it naturally ; considering, also, that nothing 
can recommend us more to the good esteem of the men 
with whom we are to spend our lives than mildness and 
good-nature, and, on the contrary, that anger is attended 
with infinite danger and trouble, I shall, for your greater 
defence and security in this respect, relate the loves of 
three young men and as many ladies, who all became 
miserable through the fury of one. 

Marseilles, you know, is an ancient and famous city in 
Provence, situated on the sea coast, and was better stored 
formerly with rich citizens and wealthy merchants than it 
is at present; amongst whom was a person called Narnald 
Cluada, one of a fair character, and immensely rich, who, 
besides his other children, had three daughters ; the two 
eldest, who were twins, were about fifteen years of age, and 
the other fourteen, and there was nothing wanting to the 
disposing of all three in marriage but the return of their 
father, who ‘was gone on a trading voyage to Spain. The 
names of the two former were Ninetta and Magdalena, and 
of the last Bertella. Now there was a worthy young gentle- 
man, but of small fortune, named Restagnone, in love with 
Ninetta, and she having the same good liking for him, this 


212 THE DECAMERON 


affair was carried on for some time between them without 
anybody’s knowing anything of the matter. In the mean- 
time, two other young gentlemen, who were both rich, their 
fathers being just dead, fell in love with the other two sisters ; 
the one, whose name was Folco, having made choice of 
Magdalena, and the other called Ughetto, of Bertella. 
Restagnone being apprised of this by Ninetta, contrived 
a way to make up his want of wealth by their love, and 
getting into company sometimes with one, and then with 
the other, and going with them, after they became a little 
acquainted together, to see their mistresses and his own, he 
took occasion one day to invite them to his house, when he 
spoke to them in this manner: ‘‘Gentlemen, our acquaint- 
ance for some time past may have convinced you of the 
great esteem I have for you, so as to have your interests 
at heart equally with my own: I shall now acquaint you, 
therefore, with a thought which has just come into my mind, 
and you may do afterwards as shall seem most proper. It 
plainly appears that you have the utmost regard and value 
for the two young ladies, and I have the same for the third 
sister. I think, if you will consent to it, that I have found 
out an expedient agreeable enough, which is as follows: 
you are both very rich, and I am otherwise; make then 
one joint stock, and let me come in a partner with you, 
and resolve on what part of the world we shall go to, to 
live happily together, and I will undertake that the three 
sisters shall bear us company, with a good part of their 
father’s wealth; so that every one of us may have his 
mistress, and we live like brethren together, with great 
comfort and satisfaction. Say then what you mean to do.” 

The young gentlemen were so much in love that they 
gave themselves very little time to reflect upon what was 
proposed; but declared that, happen what would, they 
were ready to comply. Upon this, he took the first oppor- 
tunity that offered, and which was no easy matter to 
compass, of being with Ninetta, when he made the same 
proposal to her, enforcing it by divers reasons, which he 
had no great occasion to do, because it was entirely to her 
liking. She told him, therefore, that she consented herself, 
and would persuade her sisters; that, in the meantime, he 


FOURTH DAY 213 


should get everything in readiness for such an expedition. 
He returned then to his two friends, who grew impatient 
to be gone, and told them that everything was in readiness 
on the part of the ladies. Their resolution was to go to 
Crete; and, selling all their estates under the pretence of 
turning merchants, they bought a light frigate, which they 
armed and victualled with great secrecy against the time 
appointed. During this, Ninetta, who was no stranger to 
her sisters’ inclinations, had wrought so far upon them by 
her fine persuasions, that they longed for nothing so much 
as their departure. The night being come, therefore, when 
they were to embark, the three ladies opened their father’s 
cabinet, and took out a great quantity of money and 
jewels, with which they stole away to meet their lovers, 
who were expecting them at the place appointed; when 
they immediately set sail, and made no stop anywhere 
till they came to Genoa the next night, where they con- 
summated their several nuptials. From thence they went 
from port to port, till in eight days they arrived at Crete, 
where they purchased estates and fine houses, and lived 
like noblemen, keeping great numbers of servants, horses, 
dogs, &c., for their diversion; so that none seemed to 
enjoy more pleasure and satisfaction than themselves. 
Passing their time away in this manner, it happened (as it 
happens every day, that things, however coveted by us, 
nauseate by over great plenty), that Restagnone, who had 
an ardent affection for Ninetta before she was in his power, 
began now to be abundantly more cool in that respect ; 
for, being at a feast one day, he met with a lady, with 
whom he became violently in love, and he began to give 
treats and entertainments for her sake, till his wife grew 
so jealous that he could never stir a step but she had 
notice of it, and expressed the utmost uneasiness both in 
her words and behaviour to him on that account. But as 
plenty always cloys, and as to have what we want denied 
us whets the appetite, so did this vexation of hers increase 
the flame of his love. For whether it was that he had 
really accomplished his desires or not, Ninetta, whoever 
told her so; believed it: and she consequently fell into 
such a fit of sorrow and fury afterwards, that her love for 


214 THE DECAMERON 


her husband was exchanged into extreme hatred; and she 
resolved to revenge the wrong she had sustained with his 
death. Meeting then with an old Grecian woman, skilled 
in all sorts of poisons, she engaged her, by presents and 
large promises, to prepare a deadly water, which she gave 
him, without any further. consideration, one evening, when 
he was very thirsty, to drink; and the power of it was 
such, that he died before morning. Folco and Ughetto, 
with their wives, knowing nothing of his dying of poison, 
lamented over him very much along with Ninetta, and had 
him honourably buried. But not many days afterwards 
the old woman was taken up for some other crime, when 
she confessed this. Whereupon the Duke of Crete, without 
saying a word to any person about it, had Folco’s palace 
beset one night, and Ninetta brought quietly away prisoner 
from thence ; who, without any torture, confessed the whole 
of Restagnone’s death. He therefore acquainted Folco 
and Ughetto with it, who used all their interest with him 
to prevent her being burnt, which they understood was 
likely to be her sentence, but all to no purpose; the 
duke seemed resolved to have justice done. Hereupon 
Magdalena, a very beautiful lady, and whom the duke had 
long taken a fancy to, though hitherto to no purpose, sup- 
posing now that by obliging him she might save her sister’s 
life, sent privately to let him know that she would comply 
with his entreaties upon two conditions: the one was, that 
her sister should be set free ; and the other, that the whole 
should be a secret. The duke liked the message, and 
agreed to what was proposed. Wherefore, keeping Folco 
and Ughetto prisoners one night, by her consent, as if he 
wanted some further information, he went privately after- 
wards to Magdalena, and pretending that he had caused 
Ninetta to be put into a sack, and thrown into the sea, he 
took her along with him to her sister, to whom he gave her 
up, according to their agreement, charging Magdalena to 
send her out of the way, to prevent all blame and censure, 
and lest he should be compelled to proceed with rigour 
against her. The next morning Folco and Ughetto were 
told that their sister was put to death, and being released, 
went home to comfort their wives for the loss of her; and 


FOURTH DAY 215 


Magdalena endeavoured, as’ much as possible, to keep he 
concealed ; yet Folco had some suspicion that she was in 
the house, and was at last convinced of it; which occa- 
sioned some jealousy, as he knew the duke’s regard for his 
wife: therefore he asked her how it happened that Ninetta 
was there? She began then a long story, to which he gave 
but little credit, and forced her at last to confess the truth. 
Upon which, being provoked to the last degree, he drew 
his sword, and stabbed her to the heart, she begging in 
vain for mercy: fearing afterwards the duke’s resentment 
he went into the room to Ninetta, and said cheerfully to 
her: “Let us go away directly, according to your sister’s 
appointment, for fear you should fall into the hands of the 
duke.” She was desirous of getting away, and accordingly, 
without taking any leave of her sister, went off in great 
haste along with him, who took only what money was at 
hand, which was but little; and going on shipboard to- 
gether it was never known whither they were carried. 
Magdalena being found dead the next day, some persons 
out of ill will to Ughetto, carried the news instantly to the 
duke, who came in all haste to the house, as he had an 
excessive love for her, and seized upon Ughetto and his 
lady, and put them to the rack, by which means he made 
them confess what they were entire strangers to; namely, 
that they were equally concerned in her death with their 
brother, who was fled, and finding that there was no other 
prospect of saving their lives, they bribed their keepers 
with a large sum of money, which they always had in readi- 
_ness for any extraordinary occasion, and went immediately 
on board a ship, without being able to take any of their 
effects, and fled to Rhodes, where they died some time 
after in great distress and poverty. To such an end did 
the foolish love of Restagnone, and the ungoverned fury of 
Ninetta, bring both themselves and others. 


216 THE DECAMERON 


NOVEL IV 


Gerbino, contrary toa treaty made by King William, his grandfather, 
Sought with @ ship belonging to the King of Tunts, with a design 
to take away his daughter ; who being slain by the ship’s crew, he 
slew them likewise, and was afterwards beheaded for it. 


LAURETTA had now concluded her novel, when the com- 
pany gave their different opinions concerning the fate of 
these unhappy lovers; this person saying one thing and 
that another, till at length the king, raising up his head, as 
if from a profound study, made the next signal to Eliza, 
who began as follows :— 

There are many people who are persuaded that love is 
only kindled at the eyes, making a jest at those who main- 
tain the possibility of people’s being enamoured by report: 
but how far they are mistaken will be seen in the following 
story ; wherein will be shown, not only the power of fame 
in that respect, but that it has brought divers persons also 
to a miserable death. 

William, the second king of Sicily (as their histories 
relate), had two children; ason named Ruggieri, and a 
daughter called Constantia, which Ruggieri died before his 
father, leaving a son called Gerbino, whom his grandfather 
took care to bring up, and he became a most accomplished 
prince. Nor did his fame confine itself to the bounds of 
his own country; but was echoed in divers parts of the 
world, especially in Barbary, which was then tributary to 
the King of Sicily. Amongst others who had heard of his 
singular worth and character, was a daughter of the King 
of Tunis, who, in the opinion of all that ever saw her, was 
as beautiful a woman as ever lived, with a soul equally 
noble and perfect: who, inquiring always after people of 
worth, received from all hands a most extraordinary ac- 
count of Gerbino’s merit and noble exploits, which were 
so pleasing to her, that, conceiving within her own mind 
the idea of his person, she became violently in love, and 
was never more pleased than when he was the subject of 
their discourse. On the other hand, no less had her 


FOURTH DAY 207 


fame reached Sicily, as well as other countries, and was 
particularly agreeable to the prince, who had conceived the 
same love for her; and being desirous above all things of 
seeing her, had charged some of his friends, till he could 
obtain leave from his grandfather to go himself to Tunis, 
to make his love known, in the best manner they were 
able, privately to her; and to bring him some tidings con- 
cerning her. This was managed very dexterously by one 
of them, who went under the character of a jeweller; and 
she received him with great cheerfulness and satisfaction, 
declaring a mutual regard for the prince, and, as a proof of 
it, sent him a present of one of her richest jewels. He 
received it with great joy, and wrote several letters, present- 
ing her with things of great value, and obliging himself 
to wait upon her in person, as fortune afforded him an 
opportunity. Things being carried so far, and farther than 
they ought to have been, to their mutual satisfaction, it 
happened that her father promised her in marriage to the 
King of Granada, which gave her infinite concern, and she 
would gladly, could she have found a time, have fled away 
from her father to the prince. He, in like manner, hearing 
of this contract, was afflicted beyond measure, and resolved, 
if it should happen that she was sent by sea, to take her 
away by force. The King of Tunis hearing something of 
Gerbino’s love, and what he designed, and well knowing 
his resolution and great valour: when the time came that 
she was to depart, sent to the King of Sicily to acquaint him 
with his design, and to desire a safe passport ; who, knowing 
nothing of his grandson’s affections towards the lady, nor 
thinking that it was desired upon that account, readily granted 
it. The King of Tunis then fitted out a stately ship at 
Carthage, and providing it with everything necessary to 
transport his daughter to Granada, waited only for the time 
that had been appointed. Whilst this was in agitation, 
the young lady sent one of her servants to Palermo to 
acquaint the prince that she was to sail in a few days, and 
that it would now appear whether he was a person of such 
valour as had been always reported, or had that love for 
her which he had often declared. The message was faith- 
fully delivered ; and the prince knowing, at the same time 


218 THE DECAMERON 


that his grandfather had granted a passport, was at a loss 
how to behave; but reflecting upon the lady’s words, and 
that he might acquit himself with honour, he hired two 
light ships at Messina, which he took care to have well 
manned, and sailed with them to the coast of Sardinia, 
expecting that the ship which had his mistress on board 
must take that course. In a few days that expectation was 
answered, and he beheld her sailing with a light gale of 
wind near the place where he was stationed. Upon this 
he addressed himself to his companions in the following 
manner: ‘ My friends, if you are men of the worth I sup- 
pose you to possess, I imagine there is none of you but 
must have felt the extraordinary power of love, without 
which, as I judge by myself, there can be nothing virtuous 
and praiseworthy. If then you have ever been, or are now 
in love, you will the more easily comprehend the nature of 
my design. It is love that makes me call upon you; and 
the object of it is in the ship before you. Besides that, 
there is a store of riches, which, if you fight manfully, you 
may easily obtain. For my part I desire nothing but the 
lady, for whose sake I have taken up arms: everything else 
shall be yours. Let us go then boldly to the attack ; for- 
tune seems to favour our undertaking ; they lie still, unable 
to get along for want of wind.” The prince had no occa- 
sion to make use of such an exhortation ; his people, eager 
for rapine, were ready enough to obey his orders. They 
declared their approbation then with a great shout, whilst 
the trumpets sounded, and they all armed themselves, and 
rowed towards the ship. In like manner the other ship’s 
crew, seeing two galleys come towards them, and that there 
was no possibility of escaping by flight, stood resolutely 
upon their defence. The prince being come sufficiently 
near, ordered that the masters of the ship should come on 
board, unless they meant to fight. Whilst the Saracens, 
understanding who they were, and what their demand was, 
told them that it was contrary to treaty, and showed them 
their passport: declaring further that they would neither 
surrender themselves, nor part with anything in the ship 
till they were forced to it. The prince, now seeing the 
lady upon deck, whose charms exceeded even fancy itself, 


FOURTH DAY 219 


replied, ‘‘ Your passport has no weight with me; either 
deliver up the lady or prepare for fight.” Whereupon they 
began slinging darts and stones on both sides; battering 
one another for a considerable time, to the great damage 
of both. At length, when the prince saw that little good 
was to be done that way, he took a small pinnace which he 
had brought with him from Sardinia, and setting it on fire, 
towed it with his two vessels sideways of the ship; which 
the Saracens observing, and being now assured that they 
must either surrender or perish, had the lady brought from 
below, where she was all in tears, when they called upon 
the prince, and murdered her before his face, begging in 
vain for mercy, and his assistance, and threw her into 
the sea, saying, ‘‘ Take her, such as we can. now give 
_ thee; and such as thy breach of faith has deserved.” 
He, seeing their cruelty, nor caring now what became 
of his own life, in spite of all the darts and stones 
that were thrown at him, came up close with the ship, 
and boarded her; and, as a famished lion, when he gets 
among a herd of cattle, gives a loose to his fury before 
he satisfies his hunger, so did the prince slay all that came 
in his way, whilst the fire getting ahead in the ship, he 
ordered the sailors to save what booty they were able for 
themselves, and he returned to his ship little pleased with 
so dear a conquest. Afterwards, having recovered the 
lady’s body out of the sea, and lamenting heartily over it, 
he returned to Sicily, and had it buried in a little island 
over against Trapani, from whence he came sorrowfully 
home. The King of Tunis, upon hearing the news, sent 
ambassadors all in deep mourning to the King of Sicily, 
complaining of the breach of faith, and relating in what 
manner it had been done. William was much concerned 
at this, and seeing no way by which he could deny them 
the justice they demanded, had his grandson seized ; and, 
notwithstanding the intercession of every one of his barons, 
ordered his head to be struck off in his presence ; choosing 
rathek to be without a grandson, than be thought a king 
without honour. So miserable was the end of these two 
lovers, within a few days of each other, without tasting the 
least fruit of their loves. 


420 THE DECAMERON 


NOVEL V 


Tsabella’s brothers put her lover to death; he appears to her in advream 
and shows her where he ts buried. She privately brings away his 
head; and, putting tt into a pot of basil and other sweet herbs, 
laments over tt a considerable time every day. At length they take 
it away from her, and she soon after dtes for grief. 


E11za having concluded her novel, which was commended 
by the king, Philomena was then ordered to begin; who, 
full of pity for the two unhappy lovers last mentioned, 
fetched a deep sigh, and said :—My novel will not be con- 
cerning people of such high rank as those about whom 
Eliza has now been relating, but perhaps it may be equally 
moving ; and I am led to it from her mentioning Messina, 
where the thing happened.-—There lived, then, at Messina, 


e young merchants, who were brothers, and left very 
\rich by their father: they pp Rc RS ady of 
worth an u ho was unmarried. Now they kept a 
ed pe ig to_manage their Sifaire)- called 


Lorenzo, one of a very-agreeable person, who, being often 
in Isabella’s company, and finding himself no way disagree- 
able to her, confined all his wishes to her offy,-which in 
sone little thé _had™their full effect. This affair was 
carried“6n between them for a considerable-time, without 
the least suspicion ; till one night it_happened; as she was 
going to his chamber, that—the eldest brother saw_her, 
without her knowihg it. This afflicted him greatly; yet, 
being a pfudent man, he made no discovery, but lay con- 
sidering with himself till morning what course was best for 
them to take. He then related to his brothers what he had 
seen, with regard to their sister and Lorenzo, and, after a 
long debate, it was resolved to seem to take no notice of it 
for the present, but to make away with him privately, the 
first opportunity, that they might remove all cause of 
reproach both to their sister and themselves. Continuing | 
in this resolution, they behaved with the same freedom and . 
civility to Lorenzo as ever, till at length, under a pretence 
of going out of the city upon a party of pleasure; they carried 


FOURTH DAY 221 


him along with them, and arriving at a lonesome place, fit 
for their purpose, they slew him, unprepared to make any 
defence, and buried him there; then, returning to Messina, 
they gave it out that they had sent him on a journey of 
business, which was easily believed, because they frequently 
did so. In some time, she, thinking that he made a long 
stay, began to inquire earnestly of her brothers concerning 
him, and this she did so often, that at last one of them 
said to her, “ What have you to do with Lorenzo, that you 
are continually teasing us about him? If you inquire any 
more, you shall receive such an answer as you will by no 
means approve of.” ‘This grieved her exceedingly; and, 
fearing she knew not why, she remained without asking 
any more questions; yet all the night would she lament 
and complain of his long stay ; and thus she spent her life 
in a tedious and anxious waiting for his return; till one 
night it happened, that having wept herself asleep, he 
appeared to her in a dream, all pale and ghastly, with his 
clothes rent in pieces ; and she thought he spoke to her 
thus: “My dear Isabel, thou grievest incessantly for my 
absence, and art continually calling upon me: but know 
that I can return no more to thee, for the last day that thou 
sawest me, thy brothers put me to death.” And, describing 
the place where they had buried him, he bid her call no 
more upon him, nor ever expect to see him again, and dis- 
appeared. She, waking, and giving credit to the vision, 
lamented exceedingly ; and, not daring to say anything to 
her brethren, resolved to go to the place mentioned in the 
dream, to be convinced of the reality of it. Accordingly, 
having leave to go a little way into the country, along with 
a companion of hers, who was acquainted with all her 
affairs, she went thither, and clearing the ground of the 
dried leaves with which it was covered, she observed where 
the earth seemed to be lightest, and dug there. She had 
not searched far before she came to her lover’s body, which 
she found in no degree wasted ; this confirmed her of the 
truth of her-Vision, and she was in the utmost concern on 
thag gccount ;‘but, as that was not a fit place for lamenta- 
tion, she would willingly have taken the corpse away with 
her, to have given it a more decent interment; but, finding 


222 THE DECAMERON 


herself unable to do that, she cut off his head, which she 
put into a handkerchief, and, covering the trunk again with 
the mould, she gave it to her maid to carry, and returned 
home without being perceived. She then shut herself up 
in her chamber, and lamented over it till it was bathed in 
her tears, which being done, she put it into a flower-pot, 
having folded it in a fine napkin, and covering it with earth, 
she planted sweet herbs therein, which she watered with 
nothing but rose or orange water, or else with her tears ; 
accustoming herself to sit always before it, and devoting 
her whole heart unto it, as containing her dear Lorenzo. The 
sweet herbs, what with her continual bathing, and the 
moisture arising from the putrified head, flourished exceed- 
ingly, and sent forth a most agreeable odour. Continuing 
this manner of life, she was observed by some of the neigh- 
bours, and they related her conduct to her brothers, who 
had before remarked with surprise the decay of her beauty. 
Accordingly, they reprimanded her for it, and, finding that 
ineffectual, stole the pot from her. She, perceiving that it 
was taken away, begged earnestly of them to restore it, 
which they refusing, she fell sick. yi young men won- 
dered much why she should have so great a fancy for it, 
and were resolved to see what it contained: turning out the 
earth, therefore, they saw the napkin and in it the head, 
not so much consumed, but that, by the curled locks, they 
knew it to be Lorenzo’s, which threw them into the utmost 
astonishment, and fearing lest it should be known, they 
buried it privately, and withdrew themselves from thence to 
Naples. The young lady never ceased weeping, and calling 
for her pot of flowers, till she died; and thus terminated 
her unfortunate love.—But, in some time afterwards, the 
thing became public, which gave rise to this song: 


** Most cruel and unkind was he, ’ 
That of my flowers deprived me,” ete. 


FOURTH DAY 223 


Sa 


NOVEL VI 


A young lady, named Andrevuola, was in love with Gabriotto ; they 
relate to each other their dreams, when he Pics down dead in her 
arms ; as she and her maid are carrying him out, they are appre- 
hended by the officers of justice, and she relates how the affair 
happened. Afterwards the magistrate would force her, but she 
resists ; at length her father hears of it, and as her innocence is 
clear, has her set at liberty. From that period she grows weary of 
the world, and becomes a nun. 


THE ladies were all pleased with Philomena’s novel, be- 
cause they had often heard the song, but were unacquainted 
with the reason of its being made ; whilst the king gave 
the next command to Pamphilus, who began thus :— 

The dream in the preceding story puts me in mind of 
another, in which mention is made of two different dreams, 
that show what was to happen, as the last did what had 
already come to pass; and which were no sooner related, 
but the effect as suddenly followed. You must know, then, 
that it is a general passion in all people to see many things 
in their sleep, which appear real at that time, and when we 
awake we judge some of them to be so; some to be barely 
probable, and others to be utterly false; many of which 
have come to pass. For which reason we see many persons 
pay the same regard to a dream, as they would do to any- 
thing which they saw whilst they were really awake ; inso- 
much that they find constant matter of joy or trouble from 
thence, according to their different hopes or fears. On the 
contrary, there are others who will believe nothing of that 
kind, until they fall into the very danger of which they 
have been in that manner forewarned. Of these, I com- 
mend neither the one nor the other; for, as all are not 
true, neither are they all false: that all are not true, we 
may each of us have frequently observed ; and yet that all 
are not false, appears from Philomena’s novel, and will be 
further shown by mine. ‘Therefore, I am of opinion, that 
in a virtuous life and a good cause you need regard no 
dream, which may disagree, so as to forego any good inten- 
tion. And, on the contrary, that in bad actions, although 


224 THE DECAMERON 


your dreams seem to be favourable, and to promise success, 
yet should you give no credit to these any more than to the 
others. 

But to proceed with my story. In the city of Brescia 
there lived a gentleman, called Signor Negro de Ponte 
Carraro, who, besides his other children, had a daughter 
named Andrevuola, a young and beautiful lady: now she 
had taken a fancy to a neighbour, whose name was Gabri- 
otto, a man of mean extraction, but excellent qualities, as 
well as graceful person ; and, by her maid’s assistance, she 
had managed so, that he was not only made acquainted 
with it, but they had frequent interviews together in her 
father’s garden, to the mutual satisfaction of both parties. 
And, that nothing but death should part their affection, 
they were privately married. Continuing their meetings in 
this manner, it happened one night that she dreamed they 
were in the garden together, and, as she had him in her 
arms, she thought she saw something black and frightful 
arise out of his body, the form of which she could not well 
comprehend ; which took him by force from her, and went 
with him underground; and from that time she could 
neither see one nor the other; this gave her infinite con- 
cern, and glad she was, upon waking, to find it otherwise: 
yet she had some dread still upon her on account of the 
dream. ‘The next night, therefore, on his desiring to meet 
her, she endeavoured all she could to excuse: herself; but 
seeing him resolute, and fearing to disoblige him, she re- 
ceived him as usual; and, after they had diverted them- 
selves with gathering flowers, and sat down by a fountain- 
side, he inquired the reason why she would have prevented 
his coming that night. She then related her dream, and 
the apprehensions it had occasioned; which made him 
laugh, and tell her that it was a folly to mind dreams, 


which proceed~* the most part, from the stomach being 
either too full empty, and which we every day see to 
be of no sign ': “But,” added he, “had I showed 
any regard to 5, I should not have come here, and 
not so much | sake of yours, as one of my own the 
last night, whi ; this: I thought I was hunting in a 


most delightful ».,and that I had taken a young beauti- 


FOURTH DAY 225 


ful hind, as white as snow, which in a little time became so 
tame that it never left me; when I, fearing to lose it, put 
a collar of gold about its neck, which I held bya golden 
chain in my hand; afterwards, being couched down by me, 
with its head in my bosom, on a sudden a greyhound, as 
black as jet, came rushing upon us, but from whence I 
could not imagine, seeming half-starved, and monstrously 
ugly ; at me he made his full career, and it seemed as if he 
put his snout into my bosom, on my left side, and griped 
me to my very heart, which I thought he tore away from 
me, and which gave me such pain that I instantly awoke ; 
when I laid my hand on my side, to feel if anything was 
amiss, and could not help laughing afterwards at my own 
weakness for doing so. What can be said, then, in such 
sort of cases? I have often had as bad or worse dreams, 
and nothing ever happened to me; then let us think of 
something else.” The lady was still more dismayed at 
hearing this, but concealed it as much as possible, for fear 
of giving him uneasiness; yet every now and then would 
she cast her eye down the garden, to see if anything 
monstrous appeared. ‘Till at length he, fetching a deep 
sigh, embraced her, and said, “ Alas, my life, help me, | 
am just dying!” and, having said that, fell down upon the 
ground ; which she perceiving, drew him into her lap, and 
weeping said, ‘‘ My dearest love, what is it that you feel?” 
He made no answer, but gasping vehemently, and per- 
spiring inordinately, he soon expired. It is easy to con- 
ceive how grievous this was to the lady, who loved him 
more than her own life. She called upon him by name, 
over and over again, and wept for a considerable time; 
but, seeing that he was certainly dead, and not knowing 
what to do, she ran, all in tears, to call her maid, who had 
been entrusted with the secret, and, after they had lamented 
over him for some time together, she said to her: ‘‘Since 
Heaven has taken away my love from me, I mean to live 
no longer myself; but, before I put my design into execu- 
tion, I would take the most effectual means to preserve my 
honour, by concealing the affection that existed between 
us; I desize then to have this body first interred, whose 
dear soul is now departed.” When the maid replied * My 
H 


226 THE DECAMERON 


good lady, do not talk of destroying yourself; for; by doing 
an act of that kind, you will lose him also in the other 
world: a soul like his must be happy, and you would send 
yours to endless misery: you had better make yourself 
easy, and think how you may be of service, by offering up 
some few prayers in his behalf, if by chance he should 
stand in need of them, for any sin he may have committed. 
—With regard to his interment, that may easily be done 
in this garden, because it was never known that he came 
hither ; or, if you will not agree to that, we will carry him 
out, and leave him there; he will be found in the morning, 
and conveyed home, when his relations will take care to 
bury him.” The lady, though she was overwhelmed with 
grief, listened attentively to the maid’s advice; and not 
approving of the former part of it, she said, with regard to 
the latter, ‘‘ Heaven forbid that I should ever suffer a youth 
so dearly beloved by me, as well as my husband, either 
to be buried like a dog, or left in the street: he has had 
my prayers, and shall have those of his friends and rela- 
tions. JI am now resolved what to do.” And immediately 
she sent the maid fora piece of rich silk she had in her 
cabinet, which being brought, she spread it upon the 
ground, and they laid the body upon it, with the head 
on a pillow; and closing his eyes and mouth, with abund- 
ance of tears, putting a garland of roses on his head, and 
strewing them over his body, she said to her maid: ‘‘It is 
not far from hence to his house, whither we can easily carry 
him, as he now is, and we will lay him before the door; it 
will soon be day, and then he will be found; and though it 
will be a sad sight to his friends, to me, in whose arms he 
died, it will be a satisfaction.” Having said this, she hung 
down her head over him, and wept for a considerable time ; 
till, being reminded by her servant that daybreak was at 
nand, she raised herself up, and taking the ring from her 
finger, with which he had espoused her, she put it upon his, 
saying, ‘‘My dear lord, if thy soul has any knowledge of 
my tears, or if there be any sense or understanding left 
after that is departed from the body, receive this last gift 
from her who was once so dear to thee:” and at these 
words she fell down in a swoon.-—-In some little time she 


_. FOURTH DAY 227 


came to herself, when they took up the silk, on which the 
body was laid, and went with it out of the garden, towards 
his house. And, as they passed along, it happened that 
they were met by some of the provost’s officers, who were 
out upon another affair, and who seized them as they 
were carrying off the corpse. Andrevuola, coveting death 
at that time more than life, said freely to them, ‘‘I know 
who you are, and that it would be in vain to think of 
escaping ; I am ready then to go before the magistrates, 
and to relate all I know concerning this matter: but let 
none of you dare to touch me, because I offer no resist- 
ance; nor touch anything belonging to this body, under 
pain of being accused himself.” Accordingly it was carried 
untouched to the provost’s hall, and, when notice of it was 
given to him, he arose, and she being brought before him, 
he began to question her how, and by what means, this 
thing had happened. Physicians also were sent for to give 
their opinions, whether it was done by poison, or any such 
way; who all declared the contrary, affirming that some 
vein near the heart was broken, which had suffocated him. 
The provost hearing this, and perceiving her innocence, 
seemed to make a matter of favour of it, and told her he 
would set her at liberty, upon condition that she would 
yield herself to his pleasure; which she refusing, he was 
base enough to try force. But she, fired with a noble 
disdain, defended herself with great courage and resolution. 
It being now broad day, and the news being carried to 
Signor Negro, he went, full of grief, to the hall, attended by 
many of his friends, when, being informed of his daughter’s 
innocence, he demanded her from the provost; who, choos- 
ing rather to mention himself what had happened, than to 
have her accuse him, began, with great commendation of 
her constancy and virtue, owning his design towards her; 
and offering to marry her, notwithstanding the meanness 
of her former marriage, if it was agreeable to her father and 
herself. And whilst he was speaking, she entered, and 
falling down on her knees before him, said, “‘ My dear 
father, I suppose I need not tell you either of my boldness 
or my misfortune, as you must certainly have heard, and 
know both: therefore I most humbly beg your forgiveness 


228 THE DECAMERON 


for having married without your knowledge, the person 
whom I most loved; and this I do with no view to a 
pardon, but that I may die as your daughter, and not as 
an enemy.” 

Signor Negro was advanced in years, and, being one of 
a courteous and gentle disposition, could not refrain from 
tears at these words, and, raising her tenderly from the 
ground, he said, ‘‘ Daughter, I should have been more glad 
if you had taken such a husband as I had approved of; 
yet, if you married to please yourself, this ought to please 
me. But to conceal it entirely, gives me concern for the 
little confidence you repose in me; especially as he is dead 
before I knew anything of the matter: but since it is so, 
the respect, for your sake, that I would have showed him, 
as my son-in-law, whilst he was living, I mean to express 
now he is dead.” Then, turning to his children and friends, 
he ordered them to get everything in readiness for a solemn 
and magnificent funeral. By this time Gabriotto’s friends 
and relations had assembled, as well as great crowds from 
all parts of the city; and, the corpse being set. in the 
middle of the court, in the manner she had before adorned 
it, great lamentation was made over it, by all the relations 
and others present; and from thence it was carried to the 
grave, not like an ordinary citizen, but as of a person of 
quality, upon the shoulders of some of the most eminent 
citizens, with the utmost honour and respect. A few days 
afterwards, the provost renewed his request, and. Signor 
Negro recommended it to his daughter, who would hear 
nothing of it; and he, willing to make her easy, sent 
both her and her maid into a monastery of great devo- 
tion ; where, after a long course of time, they ended their 
lives. 


_FOURTH DAY 229 


NOVEL VII 


Pasquino ds in love with Simona ;and being in a garden together, he 
happens to rub his teeth with a leaf of sage, and immediately dies. 
She ts brought before the judge, when, being desirous of showing 
him the cause of Pasquino’s death, she rubs her teeth with the 
same herb, and meets with a similar fate. 


PAMPHILUs had gone through his novel, when the king, 
seeming to be under no concern for Andrevuola, turned 
to Emilia, and desired her to begin; which she did 
accordingly in this manner :— 

Pamphilus’s story puts me in mind of another, which 
is only like it in this respect, that, as Andrevuola lost 
her lover in a garden, so she of whom I am going to 
speak was taken up in the same manner as Andrevuola 
was, and delivered from the hands of justice, neither by 
force nor virtue, but by unexpected death. And though 
we have said before, that love makes his habitation in 
the houses of great people, yet does he not disown all 
influence over the poorer sort. On the contrary, all- 
powerful as he is, he shows his power over them; as 
well as over the rich; as will appear in a great measure from 
my novel; which brings me back again to our city, from 
which we had so far strayed to talk of other subjects, 
that have happened in different parts of the world. There 
lived not long since at Florence, a young woman, agreeable 
enough, according to her rank, but descended of mean 
parents, whose name was Simona; and though she 
earned her bread by spinning, yet she was not beneath 
the passion of love, with which she was inspired by the 
pleasing conversation and behaviour of a young man of 
the same condition as herself, who used to bring her wool 
to spin for his master, a clothier.. From this youth, 
whose name was Pasquino, she received the amorous 
flame, ever wishing, but not expecting anything further ; 
whilst still, as her wheel went round, she sent forth a 
thousand sighs, calling him then to mind who had brought 
her the wool. He, on the other part, being desirous that 


230 THE DECAMERON 


his master’s work should be well done, as if Simona’s 
spinning was to make up the whole piece, used to call 
oftener upon her than upon any one else; whence the one 
continually soliciting, and the other desiring to be solicited, 
it happened, that the first began to assume more courage 
than he used to have, and the second lost a good deal of 
her fear and bashfulness, so that they seemed at last to 
have come to a tolerable understanding. This good liking 
of theirs continuing for some time, and every day increasing, 
he happened to say to her one day, that he desired of all 
things to meet her in a certain garden, where they might 
talk together with more freedom and less suspicion. She 
assured him that she was willing ; and telling her father, 
one Sunday after dinner, that she was going for an indul- 
gence, to St. Gallo, she went along with a companion of 
hers, called Lagina, to the place appointed. There she 
found him with a friend of his, named Puccino, though more 
usually called Stramba; when Stramba and Lagina soon 
became acquainted, and drew to one end of the garden; 
whilst Pasquino and Simona were at the other. In that 
part where this couple was, grew a large bush of sage, 
where they seated themselves, and having talked about 
a feast, which they intended to have some holiday in 
that garden, he plucked a leaf of the sage, and began 
to rub his teeth and gums with it, saying, that nothing 
cleansed the teeth better after eating than sage: and when 
he had done he returned to his former subject of the 
feast, when immediately he began to change countenance, 
his sight and speech both failed him, and he suddenly 
expired. When Simona saw this, she began to lament, and 
called for help to the other two, who instantly came thither, 
and seeing him not only swelled, but full of black spots, 
Stramba immediately cried out, ‘‘Oh! thou vile woman, 
thou hast poisoned him.” And he made such an uproar, 
that he was heard by many of the neighbours who flocked 
thither, and finding the man dead and swelled, and hearing 
Stramba lament and accuse Simona of his death, whilst 
grief for the loss of her lover, and astonishment together, 
had so confounded her, that she scarcely made any de- 
fence, they supposed it was as he said. Upon which the 


FOURTH DAY 231 


poor creature was carried before a magistrate; when 
Stramba, and two other friends of Pasquino, being her 
accusers, the judge took immediate cognisance of it, and 
not being able to see any malicious intent in Simona, or 
that she was in the least guilty, he wished to view the dead 
body, as well as the place and manner of it, because there 
were some things which he could not well understand 
from her account. Coming, then, without any great bustle 
to the garden, where Pasquino’s body lay puffed up like 
a tun, the judge was surprised, and inquiring how it 
happened, Simona went to the bush of sage, and having 
related the whole affair, that he might have a perfect 
account, rubbed her teeth with a leaf, as Pasquino had 
done. Stramba and the rest looked upon this as a frivolous 
and vain pretence, and called out violently to the judge to 
have her burnt for her wickedness ; whilst she (miserable 
wretch!) grieved for the loss of her lover, and terrified to 
death with their threats, having rubbed her teeth with 
the same sage that he had used, dropped down dead in 
a similar manner, to the wonder of them all. 

Happy souls! toend both their loves and their lives on 
the same day. More happy still, if they went together tothe © 
same place. Happiest, if they love one another as much 
in the other world as here. But happiest of all, at least 
in our judgment, is the soul of Simona, whose innocence, 
fortune would not leave at the mercy of such witnesses 
and therefore found a way, by her dying the same death 
with her lover, for her to escape their slander, and to 
follow the soul of her beloved Pasquino. 

The judge was as one in amaze at this accident, as well 
as the rest of the company; and upon recollecting himself 
at last, he said, this sage is plainly venomous ; therefore, 
that nobody else may suffer by it, let it be cut up by the 
roots and burnt; which was done by the gardener in his 
presence, when the cause of the lovers’ death plainly 
appeared. Under it was a monstrous overgrown toad, 
with whose breath it was judged to be infected. And 
none being hardy enough to go near it, they made a circle 
of stubble round it, and burnt it along with the sage. So 
ended the process upon the death of poor Pasquino, whose 


232 THE DECAMERON 


body, as well as that of Simona, was interred by Stramba 
and the rest of the people present, in St. Paul’s Church, to 
which parish they were said to belong. 


NOVEL VIII 


Girolamo is in love with Salvestra, and ts obliged by his mother to go te 
Paris. On his return he finds her married; and getting privately 
into her house, he breathes his last by her side. Being carried from 
thence toa church to be buried, she dies likewise upon his corpse. 


EMILia’s novel was concluded, when by the king’s order 
Neiphile began as follows :-— 

There are some people, most worthy ladies, who think they 
know more than other folks, and yet know less; and upon this 
presumption not only oppose their opinions to the general 
sense of mankind, but. even to the very nature of things; 
from whence proceed frequently great inconveniences, and 
never any good. Amongst natural causes, that which the 
least brooks any advice or opposition is love, the nature of 
which is such, as more easily to wear away of itself, than 
to be removed by any admonition; for which reason I 
intend to relate a story of a lady, who, willing to appear 
wiser than she really was, or than the thing in which she 
would have showed her good understanding required, by 
endeavouring to drive away that passion from. a heart in 
which it was firmly implanted, deprived her son both of life 
and love at the same time.—In our city, as it is reported, 
there lived a great and wealthy merchant, whose name was 
Lionardo Sighieri, who by his wife had an only son. called 
Girolamo. He died presently after his son was born, 
and the infant’s guardians along with his mother took 
all possible care both of him and his affairs. As he grew 
up, amongst the other children of the neighbourhood, he 
used to play with a tailor’s daughter much about the 
same age; in time that acquaintance changed into love, 
which became so vehement, that he was never easy 
unless he was in her company, and her respect and good 
liking were the same for him. His mother observed it, 


FOURTH DAY 233 


and would frequently correct him for it; and finding that 
ineffectual, complained to his guardians; and thinking, on 
account of his riches, that she might work impossibilities, 
she said to them, ‘‘ This boy of mine, who is but fourteen 
years old, has taken such a fancy to a tailor’s daughter, 
that unless we remove him he will marry her privately 
some time or another, which will be death to me; or else 
he will pine and consume himself away, if he sees her 
married to another person ; for which reason I think it best 
to send him a distance off to some of our factors, in order 
by his absence to put her out of his thoughts, and after- 
wards we may provide a more suitable wife for him.” They 
agreed with her that it would be right to do so, and pro- 
mised her all the service that lay in their power. Calling 
him into the counting-house, one of them spoke kindly 
to him in this manner: ‘ Young gentleman, as you are now 
of considerable years, it is fit that you should begin to look 
after your own affairs; for which reason we hold it proper 
that you go and reside some time at Paris, where you will 
see how a great part of your trade is carried on: besides 
you will have greater opportunities there of improving your- 
self than you can have here, and after you have conversed 
with persons of quality and distinction, of which there are 
great numbers at Paris, and learned their breeding and 
elegant accomplishments, it will then be time for you to 
return.” He listened very attentively, and replied in a few 
words, that he would not consent, because he thought it 
full as well to stay at Florence. They reproved him a 
little for it; but finding they could get no other answer, 
they acquainted his mother. She was in a violent passion, 
and gave him hard words, not on account of his refusing to 
go, but for his love affairs, which availing nothing she began 
to use gentler means, entreating him in the mildest terms 
that he would oblige his guardians ; and she prevailed so 
far, that he consented to go and stay one year there, and 
no more, and accordingly he went. Being sent thus to 
Paris, over head and ears in love, his return was put off 
from one day to another, till he was kept there at last two 
years ; when coming home, more enamoured than ever, he 
found that his mistress was married to a young man, a 
H2 


234 THE DECAMERON 


tent-maker, which gave him infinite concern. But seeing 
that the thing could not be remedied, he endeavoured to 
bear it patiently ; and finding out the place where she 
lived, he began, as is usual with young lovers, to walk 
frequently by the house, supposing that she could no more 
have forgotten him than he had forgotten her; but the 
case was otherwise: she remembered him no more than 
if she had never seen him, at least it seemed so by her 
behaviour, which gave him great trouble; yet notwith- 
standing, he tried all means to make her call him to mind; 
but finding it in vain, he resolved to speak to her though 
it cost him his life. And having informed himself, by a 
neighbour, concerning the state of the house, he got into 
it privately one night, when they were gone to spend the 
evening with some friends,.and hid himself in their chamber 
behind some sail-cloths, where he waited till they returned, 
and were in bed; and when he thought the husband fast 
asleep, he went softly to her side, and laying his hand 
upon her breast, said gently to her, ‘‘My dear life, are 
you asleep?” She happening to be awake was going to 
cry out, when he immediately added, ‘‘ For \God’s. sake 
make no noise; I am your old lover Girolamo.” She, 
hearing this, replied, all in a tremble, ‘‘ Dear sir, go about 
your business; the time when we might love one: another 
is past; you see Il am married, and therefore am only to 
regard my husband; I entreat you then to depart, for if 
he should know of it, supposing nothing: worse to happen, 
I should be miserable as long as I live, and our lives 
hitherto have been very comfortable together.” The youth 
was extremely troubled at these words, and though he put 
her in mind of past times, and used many arguments and 
fair promises to persuade her, yet it was all in vain. At 
last he desired that, as a recompense for all his love, she 
would only let him lie by her side till he had warmed. him- 
self a little, for that he was, quite starved with waiting for 
her, promising neither to speak nor touch her, and when 
he grew warmer to go away. She, having some compassion 
left for him, gave leave upon those conditions. He then 
lay down by her, and calling to mind his long passion, and 
her inflexible cruelty, as one destitute of all hope, resolved 


_ FOURTH DAY 235 


to die; and holding strongly his breath, he clenched. his 
hands, and expired by her side. In some little time, she 
being surprised at his lying so still, and fearing lest her 
husband should wake, began to say to him, “Alas! sir, 
why do not you go away?” And perceiving that he made 
no answer, she supposed he was asleep, and putting her 
hand out to jog him, found him quite cold; greatly amazed 
at this, and shaking him more strongly, she perceived he 
was certainly dead. Affected beyond measure, she lay a 
considerable time, not knowing what course to take. At 
length, she resolved to sound her husband, by making it 
another person’s case ; waking him, therefore, she proposed 
it to him, as having happened to somebody else, and then 
asked him what he would do in such an affair.. The honest 
man replied, that he would have him carried privately home, 
without the least resentment to the: woman, because she 
seemed to be no way in fault. “ Then,” said she, ‘we 
must do so now:” and taking hold of his hand, laid it 
upon the dead body; upon which he arose in a great 
fright, and, lighting a candle, immediately took the corpse 
upon his shoulders, having first put all its clothes upon it, 
and relying upon his innocence, carried it to the mother’s 
door, and left it there. Being found in the morning, there 
was a great uproar about it, and the body was examined 
all over, and no wound or bruise appearing, the physicians 
declared that he died for grief, and such was really the case. 
The corpse was then carried to the church, attended by the 
sorrowful mother, and other friends and relations to lament 
over it, according to the. custom of our city; and whilst 
this was doing, the honest man, in whose house he died, 
said to his wife, ‘‘ Go, veil yourself, and haste to the church, 
and hear among the women what they say about it, and I 
will do the same amongst the men, by which means we 
shall know whether they have any suspicion of us.” The 
woman, who had some pity for him, when it was too late, 
grew desirous of seeing him dead, to whom, whilst living, 
she would not vouchsafe the favour of one kiss, and went 
directly thither. 

Most wonderful it is to conceive, with what difficulty is 
traced out the powerful working of love! That heart which 


236 THE DECAMERON 


was proof against the prosperous fortune of Girolamo, was 
now pierced by his adversity ; and the old flames of love, 
which were revived, had such an effect upon her, that, 
veiled as she was, she still pressed forwards to the corpse ; 
when she made a most terrible shriek, and falling down 
with her face upon it, she shed but a few tears; for the 
very instant almost that she touched it, grief deprived her 
of life, as it did Girolamo. In some little time the women 
began to comfort her, not knowing who she was, and to 
desire her to rise; but perceiving that she did not stir, 
they lifted her up, when they knew her to be Salvestra, 
and beheld that she was dead. Upon which the women, 
Overcome as it were by a double compassion, set up a 
greater lamentation than before. The news being carried 
through the church, soon came to the ears of her husband, 
at which he was deeply concerned, and having related: to 
some that stood by the whole affair of the preceding night, 
the cause of both their deaths plainly appeared, and they 
were generally lamented. They then took the dead lady, 
and laid her by his side upon the same bier, and they were 
buried with the greatest lamentations in the same grave; 
so this pair, which love could not join together in their 
life-time, did death unite by an inseparable conjunction. 


NOVEL IX 


Gulielmo Rossiglione gives his wife to eat the heart of Gulielmo Guarda- 
stagno, her gallant, whom he had slain; as soon as she knew this, 
she threw herself out of a window, and, dying, was buried along 
with him. 


THERE being an end of Neiphile’s novel, not without the 
greatest compassion expressed by the whole company, the 
king, who meant not to infringe upon Dioneus’s privilege, 
as there was nobody else left to speak, began thus :— 

I now call to mind a story, which, as you are upon 
sorrowful subjects, will move you no less than the last, as 
the persons concerned were of greater figure, and the event 
more cruel. You must know, then, that in Provence were 
two noble knights, who had each of them castles of their — 


FOURTH DAY 237 


own, and vassals under their subjection; one of whom 
was called Gulie:mo Rossig/ione, and the other Gulielmo 
Guardastagno; and, being both persons of great prowess, 
they took vast delight in military exploits, and used to go) 
together to all tilts and tournaments, and appeared always 
in the same colours. Anc though they lived ten miles 
asunder, yet it happened, that Rossiglione having a very 
beautiful wife, the other, notwithstanding the friendship 
that existed between them, became violently in love, and 
by one means or other he soon let her know it; which, he 
being a valiant knight, was not at all displeasing to her ; and 
she began to entertain the same respect for him, so that 
she wished for nothing so much as that he should speak | 
to her upon that subject, which in some little time came’ 
to pass, and they were together more than once. Being 
not so discreet as they ought to have been, the husband \ 
soon perceived it, and he resented it to that degree, that | 
the extreme love which had been between them was turned | 
into the most inveterate hatred; but he was more private 

_ with it than they had the prudence to be with their amour, 
and was fully bent upon putting him to death. 

Continuing in this resolution, it fell out that a public 
tilting match was proclaimed in France, which Rossiglione 
immediately signified to Guardastagno, and sent to desire 
his company at his castle, when they would resolve together 
about going, and in what manner: .Guardastagno was ex- 
tremely pleased with the message, and sent word back that 
he would sup with him the next night without fail. Rossig- — 
lione hearing this, thought it a fit opportunity to effect his 
design, and arming himself the next day, with some of his 


the utmost malice and fury, saying, ‘‘ Villain, thou art 6 
dead man!” and the very instant he spoke the word,-the 
lance passed from behind through his breast, and he fell 
down dead, without uttering a word. - 


(oneer v ( : y i 
~ = “)) Sa ae ae ae 


238 THE ‘DECAMERON 


The servants, not knowi vio had done this, turned 
their horses, and fled with a sesible_ haste to their lord’s 
castle. Rossiglione now dismounted from his horse, and 
with a knife cut Guardastagn« » breast open, and took out 
his heart, and, wrapping it in ‘ « s reamer belonging to his 
lance, gave it to one of his yonts to carry, and com- 
manding them not to dare to spea: of it, he mounted his 
horse, and, it being now nigh!, returned to his castle. The 
lady, who had heard of Guar: »s'220’s supping there that 


night, and longed much to see iim, perceiving him not to 
come, was a good deal surprised, and said to her husband, 
“Pray, what is the reason that Guardastagno is not here?” 
He replied, ‘‘I have just received a message from him that 
he cannot be with us till to-morrow,” at which she seemed 
very uneasy. As soon as he alighted from his horse, he 
sent for the cook, and said to him, “ Here, take this boar’s 
heart, and be sure you make it as delicious as possible, 
‘and send it up to the table in a silver dish. Accordingly, 
he took and minced it very small, tossing it up with rich 
spices, and making it a sort of high-seasoned forced 
meat. 

When supper-time came they sat down, and the dishes 
were served up; but he could not eat much for thinking of 
what he had done. At last the cook sent up the forced 
meat, which he set before his lady, pretending himself to be 
out of order, but commending it to her as a nice dish; she, 
who was not at all squeamish, began to taste, and liked it 
| so well that she gaf it all up. When he saw that she had 
made an end, he said, ‘‘ Madam, how do you like it?” 
She replied, In good truth, sir, I like it much.” ‘As 
God shall help me,” quoth the knight, “I believe you; 
nor do I wonder that it pleases you so much now it is 
dead, which, when living, pleased you above all things.” 
She made a pause at this, and then said, ** Why, what is it 
that you have given me?” He replied, “It is really the 
heart of Guardastagno, whom you, base woman, loved so 
well; be assured it is the same, for these very hands took 
it out of his breast a little time before I returned home.” 
The lady, hearing this of him whom she loved ‘above all 
the world, you may easily imagine what her anguish must 





FOURTH DAY 230 


be: and at last she replied, “ You have acted like a base 
villain as you are; for if I granted him a favour of my own 
accord, and you was injured thereby, it was I, and not he, 
that ought to have been punished. But let it never be 
said that any other food ever came after such a noble 
repast as was the heart of so valiant and worthy a knight.” 
Then rising up, she instantly threw herself out of the 
window. It was a great height from the ground, and she 
was in a manner dashed to pieces. He seeing this, was a 
good deal confounded ; and being conscious of having done 
a base action, fearing also the country’s resentment, he had 
his horses saddled, and fled directly away. The next morn- 
‘ing the whole story was known all round the country, when 
the two bodies were taken and buried together in one 
grave in the church which had belonged to the lady, with 
the utmost lamentation, and verses were written over them, 
signifying who they were, as well as the manner and cause 
of their deaths. 

e 


pt fo 
oe NOVEL xX if 


A doctor's wife puts her gallant into a chest, imagining him to be dead; 
which chest is stolen by two usurers, and carried home. He comes 
to himself, and ts taken for a thief, whilst the lady's maid informs 
the magistrates that she had put him into a chest, which the usurers 
had carried away; upon which he escapes, and they are gas a 
sum of pity 


DIoNEUS was the only person now left to speak, who ac- 
cordingly began, by the king’s order, as follows :— 

The miseries of unfortunate lovers, which have been 
related by you, have so affected both my eyes and heart, 
that I have long wished for their coming to an end. We 
may now be thankful that they are concluded, unless | 
should add one to their number, whichis no part of my 
design; I mean therefore to shift the prospect, and to 
present you with a little mirth after all this sorrow, and 
which may serve as a good argument for to-morrow’s 
discourse. 

You must understand, then, that not long since lived at 


240 THE DECAMERON 


Salerno a famous doctor in surgery, called Master Mazzeo 
della Montagna, who in his old age had married a young 
and beautiful wife of the same city. There being such a 
disproportion in their years, he spared no cost of clothes 
and jewels, and gratified her in everything of that kind she 
could wish for, so that she appeared far beyond any other 
lady in the city. But she was not to be so satisfied; and 
looking out amongst the young gentlemen abroad, she at 
last fixed upon one, on whom she settled her entire hope 
and affection; and he being made sensible of it, showed 
the same regard for her. He was named Ruggieri da 
Jeroli, and of a noble family, but had been always of a 
takish disposition, on which account he had disobliged all 
his friends so far that none of them would see him, and he 
was now branded all over Salerno for everything that was 
vile and wicked. This had no weight with her, and by 
her maid’s assistance they were brought together, when 
she reproved him for his past conduct, and desired that, 
for her sake, he would leave off those wicked courses; and, 
to take away all temptation, supplied him from time to 
time with money. ‘The affair being carried on in this 
manner between them with a good deal of caution, it 
happened that the doctor had a patient in the meantime 
who had a bad leg; this, he told the person’s friends, was 
owing to a decayed bone, which he was obliged to take out 
to make a cure, otherwise he must either lose his leg or his 
life; but yet he looked upon it as a very doubtful case. 
They therefore bid him do as he thought most proper. 
Now the doctor, supposing that the patient would never 
be able to endure the pain without an opiate, deferred the 
operation till the evening ; and, in the meantime, ordered a 
water to be distilled from a certain composition, which, 
being drunk, would throw a person asleep as long as he 
judged it necessary in this particular case, and which being 
brought him home, he set it in his chamber window, without 
saying what it was. Now when the evening came on 
which he was to perform this operation, a messenger 
arrived from some very considerable persons at Malfi, 
who were his friends, charging him to come away instantly, 
for that there had been a great fray among them, in which 


- 


-FOURTH DAY 24i 


many people were wounded. The doctor then put off the 
operation of the man’s leg till morning, and went in a 
boat directly to Malfi: whilst the lady, knowing that he 
would be out all night, had her gallant brought privately 
into her chamber, where she locked him in, till certain 
persons of her family were gone to bed. 

Ruggieri, waiting thus in the chamber, expecting his 
mistress, and being extremely thirsty, whether from some 
fatigue or salt meat that he had eaten, or rather from a 
bad habit which he had of drinking, happened to cast his 
eye upon the bottle of water which the doctor had ordered 
for his patient, and imagining it was something pleasant to 
drink, took it all off at a draught, when, in a little time, he 
fell into a profound doze. The lady made what haste she 
could to her chamber, and finding him fast asleep, began, 
with a low voice, to try to wake him; but he making no 
reply, nor even stirring, she was much disturbed, and shook 
him roughly, saying, ‘Get up, sluggard! If thou art dis- 
posed to sleep thou shouldst have stayed at home, and not 
come to sleep here.” 

He being pushed in that manner, fell down from a 
chest, on which he was sitting, upon the ground, and 
‘ showed no more sense or feeling than if he had been 
really dead. She was now under greater concern, and 
began to pull him by the nose, as well as twinge him by 
the beard, but it was all of no service, the enchantment 
was too strong. On this she really suspected him to be 
dead, and pinched and burnt his flesh with the candle, till, 
finding all to no purpose, and being no doctress, although 
her husband was a doctor, she took it for granted he 
was SO. 

You may easily suppose what her grief now must be, as 
she loved him beyond all the world; and, not daring to 
make any noise, she for some time continued silently 
deploring her calamity: till fearing at last lest dishonour 
should follow, she thought some means must be contrived 
to convey him out of the house; not knowing how to 
order it herself, she called her maid, and advised with her 
about it. The girl was under great surprise, and, trying all 
means to rouse him to no purpose, agreed with her mistress 


242 THE DECAMERON 


that he was certainly dead, and that it was best to get him 
away. The lady then said,—‘ But where can we carry him 
that it may never be suspected to-morrow, when he shall 
be found, that he was brought from hence ?”—-“‘ Madam,” 
she replied, ‘‘I saw late this evening, before a joiner’s shop 
in our neighbourhood, a good large chest, if it be not 
taken into the house again; we may put him in there well 
enough, giving him two or three slashes with a penknife; 
whoever finds him will scarcely imagine that we should put 
him there rather than anywhere else; on the contrary, it 
will rather be supposed that he has been upon some bad 
exploit, because he has a general ill character, and that he 
was killed by his adversary, and so shut up in the chest.” 
She approved of her maid’s advice in everything save 
the wounding him, saying, that for all the world she would 
never consent to that. Accordingly she sent the maid to 
see if the chest was still there, who brought her word back 
that it was. And being stout and lusty, she took him on 
her shoulders, whilst the lady went first to see that nobody 
was in the way, and coming to the chest, they threw him . 
in, and shutting the lid, left him there. The same day two 
young men, who let out money upon interest, chanced to 
take a house a little farther on in the same street, who 
willing to gain much and spend but little, and having need 
of household goods, had taken notice of that chest the 
day before, and were resolved, if it should be left there all 
night, to steal it away. At midnight, then, they went and 
carried it off, without examining at all into it, though it 
seemed to be very heavy, and set it ina chamber where 
their wives lay, and then went to/bed. Now Ruggieri, by 
this time, had gotten the greater part of his sleep over; 
and his draught being pretty well digested, and its virtue 
at an end, he awoke before morning; and though his 
senses were in some measure returned to him, yet was 
there a kind of stupefaction remaining, which continued, 
not that night only, but for several days; yet he opened 
his eyes, and seeing nothing, threw his hands. about him, 
when he perceived himself shut up; he was consequently 
in the utmost amaze, and said to himself—‘' What is the 
meaning of this? Wheream 1? Am I asleep or awake? 


. FOURTH DAY 243 


{ remember last night to have been in my mistress’s 
chamber, and now methinks I am in a chest. What can 
it be?: Sure the doctor is returned, or some other accident 
has happened; and she, finding me asleep, put me in here: 
it can be nothing else.” Upon that consideration he lay 
still, and began to listen if he could hear anything stir; 
and having lain for some time in an uneasy posture, as 
the chest was strait, and that side being sore that he had 
pressed so long upon, he was willing to turn upon the 
other; when, thrusting his back against one side of the 
chest, which stood upon an unequal place, he overset it, 
and down it came to the floor, with such a noise, that the 
women were awakened, and frightened out of their wits. 
Ruggieri upon this knew not what to think, but finding the 
chest open with the fall, he thought it better to get out if 
he could, than to stay within doors; therefore he went 
groping up and down in the dark, to find some door or 
place to make his escape at. They hearing this, cried out, 
‘Who is there?” But he not knowing their voices, made 
no answer. Upon this they began to call their husbands, 
but’ they were so fast asleep, having been awake the 
greatest part of the night, that they heard nothing of the 
matter. They were then more terrified than before, and 
went to the window, calling out, ‘‘ Thieves! thieves!” This 
brought many of the neighbours together, who forced their 
way into the house: and the husbands also were raised 
with this clamour, and seized upon poor Ruggieri, who was 
out of his wits almost with surprise to find himself there, 
where he saw no possibility of making his escape. And by 
this time the city officers were drawn thither, by reason of 
the tumult, into whose hands he was delivered, and had by 
them before the provost, when he was immediately put to 
the rack, as he was one of bad character; and he confessed 
that he had gotten into the house with intent to rob them; 
whereupon the provost sentenced him to be hanged out of 
hand. That morning the news was carried all over Salerno 
that Ruggieri was taken breaking into the usurer’s house; 
which the lady and her maid hearing, were so astonished, 
that they could scarcely believe what had happened the 
preceding night was real; whilst the lady was in such con- 


244 THE DECAMERON 


cern for her lover, that she was almost distracted. Some 
few hours after the doctor returned from Malfi, when he 
inquired for his narcotic water, because he was then going 
upon his operation ; and finding the bottle empty, he made 
a terrible mutiny, telling them that mothing in his house 
could- stand untouched for them./ /The lady, who had 
something else lying nearer her heart, replied with some 
warmth, ‘“‘ What would you say in anything of consequence, 
when you make such a stir about a little water?” The 
doctor then said, “‘ Lady, you_should consider this is no 
common water, it is water distilled to cause sleep.” And 
he further told her upon what account it was made. When 
she heard this she concluded that Ruggieri had drunk it 
off, and that they supposed him therefore to be dead; 
and she added, “Sir, we knew nothing of your intention, 
but if you please you.can make more:” and he perceiving 
that there was no other remedy, did so. Soon afterwards 
the maid returned, whom she had sent to learn news of her 
lover: and she said)“ Madam, there is nobody that speaks 
well of Ruggieri, whether relation or otherwise, or intends 
to give him any assistance; but all people agree that he 
will be hanged to-morrow: one thing, however, I have 
learnt, which is new; that is, how he came into those 
usurers’ house, which I will tell you.. You know the joiner 
at whose door the chest stood, wherein we had put him ; 
he has just had a warm dispute with another person, who, 
it seems, owned the chest, and who insisted that the joiner 
should pay for it: however, he replied that he had not 
sold it, but that it was stolen away from him. The other 
answered, “It is a story, you sold it to two usurers, as 
they themselves told me this morning, when I saw it in 
their house at the time Ruggieri was taken. ‘They are 
liars,’ quoth the joiner, ‘I never sold it them; but they 
stole it from me last night; let us go to them therefore.’ 
So away they went together, whilst I returned hither; 
from hence it is easy to see that Ruggieri was carried 
in that manner to the place where he was taken; but 
how he came tq himself afterwards is beyond my com- 
prehension.” 

The lady now plainly saw how the case was, and told 


. FOURTH DAY 245 


her maid what she had learnt from the doctor, begging 
that she would lend her assistance in promoting her lover’s 
escape: for it was in her power at once to save his life and 
her honour. The maid answered, ‘‘ Madam, tell me only 
which way, and I will do it with all my heart.” The lady, 
as it was a thing that so nearly touched her, had all her 
wits about her, and gave the maid full instructions what 
she wished her to do: accordingly she went to the doctor, 
and’ began to weep, saying, “Sir, I am come to ask your 
pardon for a great crime which I have committed towards 
you.” The doctor asked what crime it was? She, con- 
tinuing to weep, replied, ‘You know what sort of a person 
Ruggieri da Jeroli is, who has been my sweetheart for this 
twelvemonth past, notwithstanding all his imperfections ; 
and who, knowing last night that you were abroad, wheedled 
me so far, that I brought him into your house, and took 
him up into my chamber to be all night with me; when, 
being thirsty, and I not knowing how to get him either any 
water or wine, without my mistress seeing it, who was then 
in the hall, I suddenly recollected to have seen a bottle of 
water in your chamber, which I fetched and gave him to 
drink, and set the bottle again where I found it; and I 
since understand that you have been in a great passion 
about it: I confess I did very ill; but who is’ there that 
some time or other doth not act amiss? I am extremely 
concerned for it; not so much upon account of the thing 
itself, as what has ensued; for it hath brought him in 
danger of his life. Therefore I earnestly beg your forgive- 
ness, and that you would give me leave to go and assist 
him to the utmost of my power.” 

The doctor, hearing this story, answered merrily, not- 
withstanding his former passion: ‘‘ You have reason enough 
to be sorry upon your own account, for instead of having a 
young brisk fellow you had nothing but asluggard. You 
may go then and save the man, if you can, but take care 
you do so no more; for if you do, I shall then pay you 
for all together.” Having this answer, she thought she had 
made a good beginning; therefore she hastened to the 
prison and persuaded the gaoler to let her speak to 
Ruggieri; when, having informed him what answers he 


246 THE DECAMERON 


was to make to the magistrate if he meant to escape, she 
went from thence to the judge, to whom she: got intro- 
duced, and said to him, “Sir, you have had Ruggieri da 
Jeroli béfore you; who was taken up for a thief; but the 
case is quite otherwise;” and here she related her whole 
story: how she had brought him into the doctor’s house, 
how she had given him that. narcotic water to drink with- 
out knowing it, and how he was put into the chest for dead : 
she afterwards told him what had: passed» between the. 
joiner and the owner of the chest, making it appear how 
he came into the usurers’ house. ; 

The judge saw that it would be an easy thing to come at 
the truth of this matter; therefore, he first inquired of the 
doctor whether the story was true concerning the water, 
and found it exactly so: he then sent for the joiner and 
owner of the chest, as also the usurers; and after much 
examination it appeared that they had stolen the chest the 
foregoing night, and carried it home. Last of all he had 
Ruggieri brought before him, when he being asked where 
he had lodged that night, he replied, That he could not 
tell where he actually did lie; but said his intention was to 
have lain with the doctor’s maid in whose chamber he had 
drunk some water to quench his most violent thirst ; but 
what became of him from that time to the time of \his 
awaking and finding himself in the chest in the usurers’ 
house, that he could give no account of:. The judge 
was mightily pleased with their accounts, and made them 
repeat their several stories over and over. At length, 
perceiving Ruggieri to be innocent, he set him at liberty, 
and sentenced the usurers to pay a fine of ten crowns. 
It is easy to imagine what Ruggieri’s joy now was, as well 
as the lady’s, who made themselves very merry together 
afterwards along with the maid, for the slashes with her 
penknife, which she meant to have given him, still going 
on in the same mirth and pleasure from good to better: 
which I wish may happen always to myself, but never to 
be put into a chest. 

If the former novels had occasioned great grief and 
sorrow to the ladies, this last of Dioneus’s made ample 
amends. But the king now perceiving that the sun was 


FOURTH DAY 24) 


about to set, and that his sovereignty was therefore at an 
end, began to excuse himself for giving such a cruel sub- 
ject to expatiate upon, as the unhappiness of lovers: then 
rising up, he took the crown from his head, and whilst they 
were waiting to see to whom he would resign it, he put it 
upon Fiammetta, saying, “I make choice of you as one 
who knows better than any other person to comfort us, 
for what we have heard to-day with to-morrow’s mirth.” 
Fiammetta, whose locks hung in long graceful ringlets over 
her white and delicate shoulders, her face round and beauti- 
ful with white and red, like lilies and roses blended to- 
gether; her eyes like those of a falcon’s, with a little mouth 
whose lips were like rubies: she, I say, said with a smile, 
“Philostratus, I willingly accept it; and, to the end that 
you may the better recollect yourself concerning what you 
have done hitherto, I will and command that every one 
be prepared to treat to-morrow upon what has happened 
happily to lovers, after certain cruel and unlucky acci- 
dents ;” which proposal was agreeable to them all. Calling 
then the steward, and concerting with him what was most 
needful to be done, she gave them leave to depart till 
supper. Some therefore walked into the garden, the beauty 
of which was such that they were never weary of it; others 
went to see the mill; and some went to one place and 
some to another, according to their different inclinations ; 
till that time being come, they all met together, as usual, 
by the fountain-side, where they supped with great elegance 
and satisfaction to themselves. When that was over, they 
began to dance and sing: and as Philomena was leading 
up the dance, the queen said, ‘‘ Philostratus, I do not in- 
tend to deviate from my predecessors, but as they have 
done hitherto, so intend I to order a song: and as I am 
very sure that yours are like your novels, therefore, that no 
more of our days be disturbed with your misfortunes, I 
desire you would give us one of those which pleases you 
‘most. Philostratus replied, ‘‘ With all my heart;” and he 
immediately began the following song :— 


248 


THE DECAMERON 


SONG 
CHORUS 


Sure none can more your pity move,” 
Than I, who am betray’d in love. 


When my poor wounded heart, 
For her of whom I now complain, 
First felt the am’rous smart, 
The greatest pain 
As nought I deem’d: 
For she, since most unkind, 
Then all perfection seem’d : 
But, ah! too late my error now I find. 
Sure, &c. 


For why? I see myself deceiv’d 
By her, my only hope and joys 
And when too fondly I believ’d, 
None so secure, so blest as I; 
All past engagements laid aside, 
To soothe a happier rival’s pride. 
Sure, &c. 


Ii 


Since my disgrace, 
I mourn and curse the day, 
When her too beauteous face 
First stole my ravish’d heart away 3 
Whilst my too easy faith and love 
An endless source of sorrow prove, 
Sure, &c. 


IV 


So great the grief, 

Which has my mind possest ! 
That vain is all relief, 

And only death can give me rest § 
*Tis that shall all my sorrows close, 
With a secure and long repose. 

Sure, &c. 


-FOURTH DAY 249 


Vv 


No other means remain 
To ease my pain 
But, oh ! when clostd shall be these eyes, 
Within her breast 
Let ne’er one anxious thought arise, 
Be she for ever blest ! 
Sure, &c. 


VI 


Yet ere I go, 
Kind Cupid, whisper in her ear, 
That ’tis for her, 
I all these torments know: 
Perhaps she may repent her usage past, 
And grant my love a kind return at last. 


CHORUS, 


Sure none can more your pity move, 
Than I, who am betray’d in love. 


Philostratus’s sentiments, and the grounds of them, were 
plainly set forth in this song, and perhaps the lady’s coun- 
tenance who was engaged in the dance had made a further 
discovery, if the darkness of the night had not concealed 
the blushes rising in her face: but the song being ended, 
as well as many others afterwards, and the hour of rest now 
drawing on, by the queen’s command they all repaired to 
their several chambers. 





| THE FIFTH DAY 


THE sun now darted forth his golden beams over the face 
_ of our hemisphere, when Fiammetta, awaked by the sweet 





et 


_ been merrily chanting among the trees, arose, and had all 


music of the birds, who, from the first notice of day, had 


~ the company called up ; when they walked leisurely together 


upon the dewy grass, into a pleasant meadow, until the 
sun was a little higher; conferring by the way upon many 
agreeable subjects. At last, when the heat grew a little in- 


_ tense, they retreated to their former station, where they re- 
_ freshed themselves with wine and sweetmeats, and diverted 
_ themselves afterwards in the garden, till dinner-time: every- 
_ thing being provided at that hour, in the neatest manner, 


by their steward, they had a song or two, and then sat down : 
and dinner being ended, they were entertained again both 


with music and dancing. After that was over the queen 
_ gave them their liberty; when, accordingly, some went to 


lie down, and others amused themselves in the meantime in 
the garden: but at the usual hour they all met by her order 


AN one 


_at the fountain-side. When, being seated on her throne and 
casting her eye upon Pamphilus, she smiled ; and desiring 


him to begin, he immediately complied in this manner. 





NOVEL I 


_Cymon becomes wise by being in love, and by force of arms wins Ephi- 
genia his mistress upon the seas; and is imprisoned at Rhodes. 
Being delivered from thence by Lysimachus, with him he recovers 
Ephigenia, and flies with her to Crete, where he is married te her, 
and ts afterwards recalled home. 





A GREAT many novels come now fresh into my mind, for 


the beginning of such an agreeable day’s discourse as this 





250 


. FIFTH DAY 251 
is likely to be; but one I am more particularly pleased 


with, because it not only shows the happy conclusion which | 


we are to treat about, but how sacred, how powerful also, 
as well as advantageous, the force of love is; which some 
people, without knowing what they say, unjustly blame and 
vilify, and which I judge will rather be had in esteem by you, 
as I suppose you all to be subject to the tender passion. 
According to the ancient histories of Cyprus, there lived 
some time in that island, one of great rank and distinction, 
called Aristippus, by far the wealthiest person in all the 
country ; and if he was unhappy in any one respect, it was in 
having, amongst his other children, a son, who, though he 
exceeded most young people of his time in stature and 
comeliness, yet he was a perfect natural: his true name was 
Galeso, but as neither the labour nor skill of his master, 
nor the correction of his father, was ever able to beat one 
letter into his head, or the least instruction of any kind, 
and as his voice and manner of speaking were strangely 
harsh and uncouth, he was, by way of disdain, called only 
Cymon; which, in their language, signified deast. The 
father had long beheld him with infinite concern, and as 
all hopes were vanished concerning him, to remove out of 
his sight an object which afforded constant matter of grief, 
he ordered him away to his country house, to be there with 
his slaves. This was extremely agreeable to Cymon, be- 
cause people of that sort had been always most to his 
mind. Residing there and doing all sorts of drudgery 
pertaining to that kind of life, it happened one day, as he 
was going, about noontide, with his staff upon his shoulder, 
from one farm to another, that he passed through a pleasant 
grove, which, as it was then the month of May, was all in 
bloom ; from whence, as his stars led him, he came into a 
meadow surrounded with high trees, in one corner of which 
was a crystal spring, and by the side of it upon the grass, 
lay a most béautiful damsel asleep, clothed with a mantle 
so exceedingly fine and delicate, as scarcely to conceal 
underneath the exquisite whiteness of her skin; only from 
her waist downwards she wore a white silken quilt, and at 
her feet were sleeping, likewise, two women and a map- 


servant. 


“oe aL Wl 
Bee aed ren es 


Z| 


Bj 
Pgs tins a 














252 THE DECAMERON 


As soon as Cymon cast his eye upon her, as if he had 
never seen the face of a woman before, he stood leaning 
upon his staff, and began to gaze with the utmost astonish- 
ment without speaking a word. When suddenly, in his 
rude uncivilised breast, which had hitherto been incapable 
of receiving the least impression of politeness whatsoever, 
a sudden thought arose, which seemed to intimate to his 
gross and shallow understanding, that this was the most 


_ agreeable sight that ever was seen. From thence he began 
_ to examine each part by itself, commending every limb 
and feature; and being now become a judge of beauty 
from a mere idiot, he grew very desirous of seeing her 
eyes, on which account he was going several times to 
awake her; but as she so far excelled all other women 
that he ever saw, he was in doubt whether she was a mortal 


creature. This made him wait to see if she would awake 
| of her own accord; and though that expectation seemed 
| tedious to him, yet so pleasing was the object, that he had 


no power to leave it. 


_. After a long time she came to herself, and raising up her 


head, saw Cymon stand propped upon his stick before her, at 
which she was surprised, and said, ‘‘Cymon, what are you 


looking for here at this time of day?” Now he was known 
all over the country, as well for his own rusticity as his 


father’s nobility and great wealth, He made no answer 
but stood with his eyes: fixed upon hers, which seemed to 
‘dart a sweetness that filled him with a kind of joy to which 





_ he had hitherto been a stranger ; whilst she, observing this, 
_ and not knowing what his rudeness might prompt him to, 
ay called up her women, and then said, “Cymon, go about 
your business.” He replied, ‘I will go along with you.” 
_ And though she was afraid, and would have avoided his 
company, yet he would not leave her till he had brought 


jher to her own house; from thence he went home to his 


_ father, when he declared that he would return no more 


into the country, which was very disagreeable to all his 


friends, but yet they let him alone, waiting to see what this 


ichange of temper could be owing to. Love thus having 
pierced his heart, when no lesson of any kind could ever 


find admittance, in a little time his way of thinking and 





. FIFTH DAY. 253 


behaviour were so far changed, that his father and friends 
were strangely surprised at it, as well as everybody that 
knew him. First of all, then, he asked his father to let 
him have clothes, and everything else like his brethren; 
to which the father very willingly consented. Conversing 
too with young gentlemen of character, and observing their 
ways and manner of behaving, in a very short time he not 
only got over the first rudiments of learning, but attained 
to some knowledge in philosophy. Afterwards, his love 
for Ephigenia being the sole cause of it, his rude and rustic 
speech was changed into a tone more agreeable and 
civilised: he grew also a master of music; and with regard 
to the military art, as well by sea as land, he became as 
expert and gallant as the best. In short, not to run over 
all his excellencies, before the expiration of the fourth year 
from his being first in love, he turned out the most accom- 
plished young gentleman in every respect that ever Cyprus 
could boast of. What, then, most gracious ladies, shall 
we say of Cymon? Surely nothing less than this; that all 
the noble qualities which had been infused by Heaven 
into his generous soul were shut up as it were by invidious 
fortune, and bound fast with the strongest fetters in a small 
corner of his heart, till love broke the enchantment, and 
drove with all its might these virtues out of that cruel 
obscurity, to which they had been long doomed, to a clear 
and open day; plainly showing from whence it draws 
those spirits that are its votaries, and whither its mighty 
influence conducts them. Cymon, therefore, though he 
might have his flights iike other young people, with regard 
to his love for Ephigenia, yet when Aristippus considered 
it was that had made a man of him, he not only bore with 
it, but encouraged him in the pursuit of his pleasures. 
Cymon, nevertheless, who refused to be called Galeso, 
remembering that Ephigenia had styled him Cymon, being 
desirous of bringing that affair to a happy conclusion, had 
often requested her in marriage of her father, who replied 
that he had already promised her to one Pasimunda, a 
young nobleman of Rhodes, and that he intended not to 
break. his word. The time then being come that was 
appointed for their nuptials, and the husband having sent 


254 THE DECAMERON 


-in form to demand her, Cymon said to himself: “O 
Ephigenia, the time is now come when I shall give proof 
how I love you. I am become a man on your account, 
and could I but obtain you I should be as glorious and 
happy as the gods themselves; and have you I will, or 
else I will die.” 

Immediately he prevailed upon some young noblemen 
who were his friends to assist him; and, fitting out a ship 
of war privately, they put to sea, in order to waylay the 
vessel that was to transport Ephigenia; who, after great 
respect and honour showed by her father to her husband’s 
friends, embarked with them for Rhodes. Cymon, who 
had but little rest that night, overtook them on the follow- 
ing day, when he called out, ‘Stop, and strike your sails ; 
or expect to go to the bottom of the sea.” They, on the 
other hand, had got all their arms above deck and were 
preparing for a vigorous defence. He therefore threw a 
grappling iron upon the other ship, which was making the 
best of its way, and drew it close to his own; when, like a 
lion, without waiting for any one to second him, he jumped 
singly among his enemies, as if he cared not for them, and 
love spurring him’on with incredible force, he cut and 
drove them all like so many sheep before him, till they 
soon threw down their arms, acknowledging themselves 
his prisoners; when he addressed himself to them in the 
following manner :—“ Gentlemen, it is no desire of plunder, 
nor enmity to any of your company, that made me leave 
Cyprus to fall upon you here in this manner. What occa- 
sioned it is a matter, the success of which is of the utmost 
consequence to myself, and as easy for you quietly to grant 
me; it is Ephigenia, whom I love above all the world ; 
and as I could not have her from her father peaceably, and 
as a friend, my love constrains me to win her from you as 
an enemy, by force of arms. Therefore I am resolved to 
be to her what your Pasimunda was to have been. Resign 
her then to me, and go away in God’s name.” 

The people, more by force than any good will, gave her, 
all in tears, up to Cymon; who, seeing her lament in that 
manner, said, ‘‘ Fair lady, be not discouraged; I am your 
Cymon, who have a better claim to your affection, on 


. FIFTH DAY 255 


account of my long and constant love, than Pasimunda 
can have by virtue of a promise.” Taking her then on 
board his ship, without meddling with anything else that 
belonged to them, he suffered them to depart. Cymon 
being thus the most overjoyed man that could be, after 
comforting the lady uuder her calamity, consulted with his 
friends what to do, who were of opinion that they should by 
no means return to Cyprus yet; but that it were better to go 
directly to Crete, where they had all relations and friends, 
but Cymon especially, on which account they might be 
more secure there along with Ephigenia ; and accordingly 
they directed their course that way. But fortune, who 
had given the lady to Cymon by an easy conquest, soon 
changed his immoderate joy into most sad and bitter 
lamentation. In about four hours from his parting with 
the Rhodians, night came upon them, which was more 
welcome to Cymon than any of the rest, and with it a most 
violent tempest, which overspread the face of the heavens 
in such a manner that they could neither see what they did 
nor whither they were carried ; nor were they able at all to 
steer the ship. You may easily suppose what Cymon’s 
grief must be on this occasion. He concluded that Heaven 
had crowned his desires only to make death more grievous 
to him, which before would have been but little regarded. 
His friends also were greatly affected, but especially 
Ephigenia, who: trembled at every shock, still sharply 
upbraiding his illtimed love, and declaring that this 
tempest was sent by Providence for no other reason, but 
that as he had resolved to have her contrary to the will 
and disposal of Heaven, to disappoint that presumption ; 
and that, seeing her die first, he might die likewise in the 
same miserable manner. 

Amongst such complaints as these they. were carried at 
last, the wind growing continually more violent, near the 
island of Rhodes; and not knowing where they were, they 
endeavoured, for the safety of their lives, to get to land if 
possible. In this they succeeded, and got into a little bay, 
where the Rhodian ship had arrived just before them; nor 
did they know they were at Rhodes till the next morning, 
when they saw, about a bow-shot from them, the same 


256 THE DECAMERON 


ship they had parted with the day before. Cymon was 
greatly concerned at this, and fearing what afterwards 
came to pass, he bid them put to sea if possible, and trust 
to fortune, for they could never be in a worse place. They 
used all possible means then to get out, but in vain; the 
wind was strongly against them, and drove them to shore 
in spite of all they could do to prevent it. They were 
soon known by the sailors of the other ship, who had now 
gained the shore, and who ran to a neighbouring town, 
where the young gentlemen that had been on board were 
just gone before, and informed them how Cymon and 
Ephigenia were like themselves driven thither by stress of 
weather. ‘They hearing this, brought a great many people 
from the town to the seaside, and took Cymon and his 
companions prisoners, who had got on shore, with a design 
of fleeing to a neighbouring wood, as also Ephigenia, and 
brought them all together to the town. Pasimunda, upon 
hearing the news, went and made his complaints to the 
senate, who accordingly sent Lysimachus, who was chief 
magistrate that year, along with a guard of soldiers to 
conduct them to prison. Thus the miserable and enam- 
oured Cymon lost his mistress soon after he had gained 
her, and without having scarcely so much as a kiss for his 
pains. In the meantime Ephigenia was handsomely re- 
ceived by many ladies of quality, and comforted for the 
trouble she had sustained in being made a captive, as well 
as in the storm at sea; and she remained with them till 
the day appointed for their nuptials. However, Cymon 
and his friends had their lives granted them (though Pasi- 
munda used all his endeavours to the contrary) for the 
favour showed to the Rhodians the day before; but they 
were sentenced to perpetual imprisonment, where they 
remained sorrowfully enough, as they had no hopes of 
obtaining their liberty. 

Now whilst Pasimunda was oe preparation for his 
nuptials, fortune, as if she had repented the injury done 
to. Cymon, produced a new circumstance for his deliver- 
ance. Pasimunda had a brother, beneath him in years, 
but not in virtue, called Ormisda, who had been. long 
talked of as about to marry a beautiful lady of that city, 


FIFTH DAY 267 


called Cassandra, whom Lysimachus was also in love with, 
and had for some time been prevented marrying her, by 
divers unlucky accidents. Now as Pasimunda was to 
celebrate his own nuptials with great state and feasting, 
he supposed it would save a great deal of expense and 
trouble if his brother were to marry at the same time. 
He consequently proposed the thing again to Cassandra’s 
friends, and soon brought it to a conclusion; when it was 
agreed by all parties, that the same day that Pasimunda 
brought home Ephigenia, Ormisda should bring home 
Cassandra. This’ was very grating to Lysimachus, who 
aw himself now deprived of the hope which he had 
hitherto entertained of marrying her himself; but he was 
wise enough to conceal it, contriving a way to prevent its 
taking effect if possible; none however appeared, but that 
of taking her away by force. This seemed easy enough on 
account of his office; still he thought it not so reputable as 
if he had borne no ‘office at all at that time; but in short, 
after a long debate with himself, honour gave way to love, and 
he resolved, happen what would, to bear away Cassandra. 
Thinking then what companions he should make choice 
of for this enterprise, as well as the means that were to be 
taken, he soon called Cymon to mind, whom he had in 
custody, as also his companions; and thinking he could 
have nobody better to assist him, nor one more trusty and 
faithful on that occasion than Cymon, the next night he 
had him privately into his chamber, where he spoke to 
him in this manner: “‘Cymon, as the gods are the best 
and most liberal givers of all things to mankind, so are 
they also the ablest judges of our several virtues and 
merits: such then as they find to be firm and constant in 
every respect, them do they make worthy of the greatest 
things. Now concerning your worth and valour, they are 
willing to have a more certain trial of both, than it was 
possible for you to show within the scanty limits of your - 
father’s house, whom I know to be a person of the greatest 
distinction ; for first, then, by the pungent force of love, as 
I am informed, have they, from a mere insensible creature, 
made a man of you; and afterwards, by adverse fortune, 
and now, by a miserable imprisonment, are they willing to 
I 


258 THE DECAMERON 


see if your soul be changed from what it was, when you 
appeared flushed so lately with the prize you had won, 
If that continues the same, I can propose nothing so agree- 
able to you, as what I am now going to offer; which, that 
you may resume your former might and valour, I shall 
immediately disclose. Pasimunda, overjoyed with your dis- 
appointment, and a zealous promoter, as far as in him 
lay, of your being put to death, is now about to celebrate 
his marriage with your Ephigenia, that he may enjoy that 
blessing which fortune, when she was favourable, first put 
into your power, and afterwards snatched away from you, 
but how this must afflict you I can easily suppose by 
myself, who am like to undergo the same injury, and at 
the same time, with regard to my mistress Cassandra, who 
is to be married then to his brother Ormisda. Now I see 
no remedy for either of us, but what consists in our own 
resolution, and the strength of our arms: it will be neces- 
sary, therefore, to make our way with our swords, for each 
of us to gain his lady: if then you value (I will not say 
your liberty, because that, without her, would be of little 
weight with you; but, I say, if you value) your mistress, 
you need only follow me, and fortune has put her into 
your hands.” These words spoke comfort to the drooping 
soul of Cymon, who immediately replied, ‘*‘ Lysimachus, 
you could never have a more stout, nor a more trusty 
friend for such an enterprise than myself, if it be as you 
seem to promise: tell me then what you would have me 
do, and you shall seg me put it nobly into execution.” 
Lysimachus made answer, “‘ Three days hence the ladies 
are to be brought home to their espoused husbands, when 
you, with your friends and myself, with some people whom 
I can confide in, will go armed in the evening, and enter 
their house whilst they are in the midst of their mirth, 
where we will seize on the two brides, and carry them 
away to a ship which I have secretly provided, killing all 
that shall presume to oppose us.” ‘This scheme was en- 
tirely to Cymon’s good liking, and he waited quietly till 
the time appointed. The wedding-day being now come, 
and every part of the house full of mirth and feasting, 
Lysimachus, after giving the necessary orders at the time 


> FIFTH DAY 259 


_ fixed, divided Cymon and his companions with his own 
friends into three parties, and putting arms under their 
several cloaks, and animating them boldly to pursue what 
they had undertaken, he sent one party to the haven to 
secure their escape, and with the other two they went to 
Pasimunda’s house; one they stationed at the gate, to 
prevent any persons shutting them up in the house; whilst 
he, along with Cymon, went upstairs with the remaining 
part. Coming then into the dining-room, where the two 
brides, with many other ladies, were seated orderly at 
supper, they advanced up to them, and throwing down all 
the tables, each seized his lady, and giving them into the 
arms of their followers, ordered them to carry them away 
to their ship. The brides, as well as the other ladies and 
the servants, cried out so much, that immediately there 
was a great tumult. In the meantime, Cymon and Lysi- 
machus, with their followers, all drew their swords, and 
came downstairs again, without any opposition, till they 
met with Pasimunda, having in his hand a great club, 
whom the noise had drawn thither, when Cymon, at one 
stroke, laid him dead at his feet, and whilst Ormisda was 
running to his assistance, he was likewise killed by Cymon: 
many others also of their friends, who came to their relief, 
were wounded and beaten back. Leaving the house then 
all full of blood and confusion, they joined parties, and 
went directly on to their ship with their booty, without the 
least hindrance whatever; when putting the ladies on board, 
and they with all their friends following them, the shore 
was soon filled with crowds of people who came to rescue 
them, upon which they plied their oars, and sailed joyfully 
away for Crete. There they were cheerfully received by all 
their friends and relations, when they espoused their ladies, 
and were well pleased with their several prizes. This 
occasioned great quarrels afterwards between’ the two 
islands of Cyprus and Rhodes. At length, by the inter- 
position of friends, everything was amicably adjusted, and 
then Cymon returned along with Ephigenia to Cyprus, 
and Lysimachus in like manner carried Cassandra back 
to Rhodes, where they lived very happily to the end of 
their days. 


260 THE DECAMERON 


NOVEL II 


Constantia ts in love with Martuccio Gomito ; and hearing that he was 
dead, out of despair, goes alone into a boat, which ts driven by the 
wind to Susa: finding him alive at Tunis, she makes herself 
known ; whilst he, being a great favourite there of the king, mar- 
ries her, and returns home with her to Lipari, very rich. 


THE queen seeing that Pamphilus’s novel was at an end, 
after praising it highly, she ordered Emilia to follow, who 
began thus:—We are all of us justly pleased with such 
things as we see attended with rewards, according to our 
wishes; and because love is more often deserving of 
happiness than misery, I shall therefore obey the queen 
with a great deal more pleasure, by treating on the present 
subject, than I did the king, in discoursing of that of yes- 
terday. You must know, then, ladies, that near to Sicily 
is a little island, called Lipari, in which, not long since, 
lived a lady of a worthy family named Constantia, with 
whom was in love a young gentleman of the same island, 
called Martuccio Gomito, one of an excellent character, 
and very eminent in his way. She also had the same 
regard for him, so that she was never easy but when she 
saw him. He, therefore, desirous of marrying her, asked 
her father’s consent, who replied, that as he was in poor 
circumstances, he would never give it. Martuccio, grieved 
to see himself rejected on account of his poverty, fitted out 
a little vessel, with some of his friends and relations, and 
made a resolution never to return to Lipari till he should 
be rich. Parting from thence, he cruised on the coast of 
Barbary, taking everything of less force than himself that 
came in his way. And fortune was favourable enough to 
him, could he have set bounds to his desires: but not 
being satisfied, he and his friends, with being very rich, 
and willing still to be more so, it happened that they were 
taken by some Saracen ships, after making a most obstinate 
defence, when, being plundered of all they had gotten, and 
the greatest part of them slain, after sinking the ship, he 
was carried prisoner to Tunis, where he suffered a long 


|. FIFTH DAY 261 


and miserable confinement. In the meantime, news was 
brought to Lipari, from divers hands, that they were all 
drowned ; which was such an affliction to the lady, that she 
resolved not to survive it; and not having a heart to make 
away with herself by any violent means, she chose to lay 
herself under a necessity of meeting with her death: 
accordingly she went privately one night to the haven, 
where she found by chance a small fisher’s boat, at liberty 
from the other ships, and furnished with sails and oars. 
Getting into this ; and having rowed a little way into the 
sea, she threw away her oars and rudder, and committed 
herself entirely to the mercy of the winds, supposing of 
necessity, that as the boat was empty, and nobody to steer 
it, either that it must overset, or else dash against some 
rock : and so break to pieces; and that, in either case, she 
could not escape if she would. Wrapping her head then 
in a mantle, she laid herself down, weeping, at the bottom 
of the boat. But it happened differently from what she 
imagined, for it being a gentle north wind, and no sea, the 
boat rode it out all night, and till the following evening 
when it was brought within a hundred miles of Tunis, to a 
strand near a town called Susa; whilst the poor lady 
thought nothing either of her being near the land, or upon 
the wide sea, having never looked up from the time of her 
laying herself down, nor meaning ever to do so. 

Now it happened, just as the boat struck against the 
shore, that a poor woman was taking away some nets which 
had been drying in the sun, who perceiving the boat 
coming full sail against the shore, and supposing the people 
to be all asleep in it, stepped into it, and finding only this 
lady, she called several times to her before she could make 
her hear, she being fast asleep, and seeing by her dress that 
she was a Christian, she inquired of her in Latin how it 
happened that she had arrived there in the boat all alone. 
The lady hearing her talk in Latin, was apprehensive that a 
different wind had driven her back to Lipari ; and getting 
up, and looking all around her, without knowing anything 
of the country, she then inquired of the good woman 
where she was; who replied, ‘‘ Daughter, you are near to 
Susa, in Barbary ;” which the lady hearing, was in great 


262 THE DECAMERON 


concern that she had not met with the death she had 
coveted, fearing also, with regard to her modesty, and not 
knowing what to do, she sat down, and began to weep 
The good woman, seeing this, had pity on her, and after 
much persuasion brought her to her little hut, where she 
told her at length in what manner she had come thither. 
The good woman then finding that she was fasting, set her 
coarse bread, with some fish dressed, and water before her, 
and prevailed upon her to eat a little. Constantia now 
inquired of the good woman who she was, that she 
talked Latin so well; who told her that she was of 
Trapani, that her name was Carapresa: and that she was 
servant to some Christian fishermen. The lady hearing 
that name, full of grief as she was, began to conceive 
some hope from it, yet could she give no account why, 
only that she thought she had’ heard the name. before. 
Her desire to die was now much abated; and without 
telling her who she was, or from whence she came, she 
begged of her to have pity on her youth, and give her 
such counsel as might enable her to avoid any injury 
that should be offered to her. The good woman left her 
in her hut till she had taken care of her nets, when she 
covered her with her mantle, and conducted her to 
Susa, saying to her, ‘‘ Constantia, I will bring you to the 
house of an old Saracen lady whom I work for sometimes ; 
she is very charitable, and I dare say, on my recom- 
mendation, will receive you as though you were her own 
child; you must study then to oblige her as much as 
possible, till it shall please Heaven to send you better 
fortune.” Accordingly she did as she had promised. 
The old lady, upon hearing the poor woman’s account 
of Constantia, looked earnestly at her, and began to 
weep; she afterwards led her into the house, where she 
and some other women lived together, without any man 
amongst them, employing themselves in embroideries and 
other kinds of needlework. In a few days she had 
learned to work in the same way, and behaved herself 
in such a manner that they were’ extremely delighted 
with her company; and at length she made herself mis- 
tress of their language. In this manner she continued 


. FIFTH DAY 263 


at Susa, being given over at home for lost. In the mean- 
time it happened that one called Mariabdela, being in 
possession of the kingdom of Tunis, a young lord, of great 
birth and power in the kingdom of Grenada, laid claim 
also to it, and assembled a powerful army to drive him out 
of the country. This coming to the ears of Martuccio 
Gomito, who was still in prison, and well acquainted with 
the Barbarian language ; understanding also that the king 
made great preparations for his defence, he said to one of 
his keepers, ‘Could I but speak to his Majesty, my heart 
forebodes that I could give him such counsel as should assure 
him of victory.” The person reported this to his master, 
who immediately informed the king ; he then sent for him, 
and demanded what counsel it was that he had to give 
him? He replied, “My lord, if I am sufficiently ac- 
quainted, since I have been in this country, with your 
manner of fighting, it should seem to me as if you 
depended principally upon your archers: now if I can con- 
trive a way whereby your enemies should want arrows, at 
the time that you had plenty of them, I suppose you will 
think then the battle would be yours.” ‘Without doubt,” 
replied the king, “if you can do that, I shall make no 
question of being conqueror.” Martuccio then added, 
“My lord, it may easily be done, if you please, and I will 
show you which way. You must have much finer cords 
made for your archers’ bows than are commonly used; you 
must also have the notches of your arrows made to suit 
these small strings ; but this must be done so privately that 
the enemy hear nothing of it, because they would then 
provide accordingly. Now the reason is this: after your 
enemies shall have discharged all their arrows, and likewise 
after your own bow-men shall have made an end of theirs, 
you know that they then gather up, and shoot back your 
own darts upon you, at the same time that your archers are 
obliged to make use of theirs: but your arrows will be use- 
less to them, because those small notches will not suit 
their great strings; on the contrary, the slender cords of 
your archers will very well receive the large notches of their 
arrows: and thus your people will have plenty of darts, 
when they shall be entirely unprovided.” The king, who 


264 THE DECAMERON 


was a most wise lord, was pleased with the advice, and 
followed it, by which means he got the victory. Martuccio 
was consequently in high favour, and soon attained to great 
power and wealth. These things were soon noised over 
the country ; till at length Constantia heard that her lover, 
whom she had thought to be dead, was yet alive. The 
flame of her love, which had been so long extinct, now 
broke out afresh, and with greater vigour, and with it 
revived her hopes ; insomuch that she related all that had 
happened to her to the good lady, acquainting her that she 
desired to go to Tunis, there to satisfy her eyes with 
beholding what fame had long rung into her ears ; the lady 
commended her design, and, as she had been hitherto a 
sort of a mother to her, embarked with her; when arriving 
there, they were entertained together at one of her relation’s 
houses. Here they sent Carapresa, whom they had carried 
with them, to learn what she could about him, who reported 
that he was alive, and in great repute. The lady then 
resolving that she would be the person to acquaint him 
with his Constantia being there, went one day to his house, 
and said to him, “Sir, one of your servants from Lipari is 
now a captive in my house, and has a desire to speak to 
you in private; for which purpose that nobody might be 
entrusted with the secret, he desired that I would go myself 
to tell you.” Martuccio gave her thanks, and followed her 
thither. As soon as the young lady saw him, she was per- 
fectly overcome with joy, and, being unable to refrain, threw 
her arms about his neck; whilst calling to mind her long 
sufferings and present transports, she burst out into a flood 
of tears. Martuccio stood some time in amaze, till at last 
he said, with a sigh, ‘‘Oh, my Constantia, are you alive? 
It is some time since I heard you were lost; nor have there 
been any tidings of you since.” And, having said this, he 
embraced her with a great deal of tenderness and affection. 
She then related to him all that had befallen her, as well as 
the respect with which she had been honoured by the good 
lady ; when, after much discourse together, he went straight 
to the king, and made him acquainted with the whole story, 
adding, that, with his consent, he intended to espouse her 
according to the manner of ourlaws. The king was greatly 


_ FIFTH DAY 265 


surprised at the narration, and, sending for. her, received 
the same account from herown mouth. He thensaid,‘‘ Lady, 
you have well earned your husband ;” then ordering many 
rich presents to be brought, he gave part to her and part to 
him, and desired them to do what was most agreeable 
to themselves. Martuccio was very thankful to the lady 
who had entertained Constantia, and made her a suitable 
acknowledgment ; and taking their leave of her, not without 
many tears, they embarked (having Carapresa along with 
them) for Lipari, where they were received with inexpres- 
sible joy; and the nuptials being celebrated with the 
greatest magnificence, they lived long together in the 
utmost tranquillity and comfort, enjoying the fruits of their 
mutual loves. 


NOVEL III 


Pietro Boccamazszsa running away with his mistress, is set upon by 
thieves, whilst the lady makes her escape into a forest, from whence 
she 7s conducted to a castle, He ts taken, but escapes by some 
accident, and arrives at the same castle, where they are married, 
and return from thence to Rome. 


THERE was not one person among them all that did not 
applaud Emilia’s novel; when the queen, knowing it was 
ended, turned to Eliza, and desired her to go on, who as 
readily obeyed in this manner :—I have a mind to relate a 
most melancholy night, as it happened to two lovers ; but 
which, being succeeded by many happy days, is conform- 
able enough to the subject proposed. There lived at 
Rome, which was once the head, though now the tail, of 
the world, a young gentleman of a good family, named 
Pietro Boccamazza, who was in love with a most beautiful 
lady, called Angelina, daughter to one Gigliuozzi Saullo, a 
plebeian, but one well esteemed among his fellow-citizens ; 
and she in some time began to have the same regard for 
him. When, weary of languishing longer for her, he 
demanded her in marriage, which, as soon as his parents 
knew, they blamed him very much, and, at the same time, 
gave the father of the lady to understand, that they would 
have him take no notice of what the young spark might say 
12 


266 THE DECAMERON 


upon that head; since, should he marry her, they would 
never own him more. Pietro, seeing himself disappointed 
in that manner, was ready to die with grief, and, could he 
but have prevailed upon her father, he would have married 
her in spite of them all. At last he thought of a scheme, 
which, if she would agree to it, would answer his purpose, - 
and, finding by a messenger that she was willing, it was 
resolved between them to fly together from Rome. Having 
concerted measures for their departure, they set out one 
morning on horseback, towards Alagna, where he had some 
friends in whom he had the greatest confidence; when, 
not having time to marry, and making the best of their 
way, for fear of being pursued, it happened after their 
riding about eight miles, that they missed their road, turn- 
ing to the left when they should have kept to the right, 
and, in about two miles farther, came in sight of a little 
castle, when being perceived from thence, twelve men came 
rushing out upon them, whom she espying, but not till 
they were almost upon them, cried out, “ Ride, my dear, 
for we are attacked;” and, accordingly, clapping spurs to her 
horse and holding fast by the pommel of the saddle, she 
galloped full speed through the forest. Pietro, whose eyes 
were more upon his mistress than anything else, followed 
ner as well as he could, till unawares he fell in amongst 
them, who seized and made him dismount: inquiring then 
who he was, and being told, they said one to another, 
“This man is a friend to our enemies; let us strip and 
hang him up on one of these oaks, out of spite to the 
Orsini family.” Having agreed upon this, they ordered 
him to undress himself, which he complied with, expecting 
nothing but death; when, on a sudden, an ambuscade of 
twenty-five others started up behind them, crying out aloud, 
« Kill them every man.” Upon this they left Pietro, to 
prepare for their own defence ; but, finding themselves out- 
numbered, they took to their heels, and the others followed 
hard after them. 

Pietro in the meantime took his clones and getting on 
horseback again, rode as fast as he could the same way 
that Angelina had taken; but seeing no track. or footsteps 
of any horse, and finding himself out of the reach, as well 


- FIFTH DAY 267 


of those who had first taken him as of the others by whom 
those persons were attacked, and not being able to make 
her out, he was almost distracted and went up and down 
the forest, calling aloud to see if she could hear, but in 
vain. Being in this disagreeable situation, he durst not 
return back, and all before him he was ignorant of ; besides, 
he was under perpetual apprehensions for them both, on 
account of the wild beasts which are in those places; and 
fancied every moment that he saw some bear or wolf tear 
her to pieces. In this manner did poor Pietro traverse the 
forest over and over, hallooing and shouting, and frequently 
coming back again, when he thought he was going forwards 
all the time; until, what with his fatigue, added to his 
fright and long fasting, he was quite spent. Perceiving 
now the night coming upon him, and not knowing what 
else to do, he tied his horse to an oak tree, and got up 
into it to secure himself from the wild beasts; whilst the 
moon rising soon after, and it being a fine clear night (he 
not daring to sleep for fear of falling down; or if he had 
been in a place more commodious, his great grief and care 
for his mistress would not have suffered him to rest), he sat 
there sighing and lamenting his hard fortune all the night 
long. The young lady in the meantime, as we before ob- 
served, was carried so far into the wood that she could 
not find the way out again: therefore she went up and 
down full of grief for what had happened. At last, seeing 
nothing of Pietro and getting into a little path, as it was 
now towards the evening, she followed it so long that in 
about two miles it brought her in sight of a little hut, to 
which she rode as fast as she could,.and found therein a 
very old man and his wife; who, on seeing her, said, 
‘‘ Daughter, what do you in this country at this time of 
day?” She wept, and replied that she had lost her com- 
pany in the wood, and. inquired how near she was to 
Alagna. The honest man made answer, “ Daughter, this 
is not the way; it is more than twelve miles from us,” 
She then said, ‘‘ And how far is it to any inn, where I may 
go to lodge?” He answered, “ There is none near enough 
for you to go to by night.”—‘' For Heaven’s sake,” quoth 
the lady, ‘‘as I can go nowhere else, will you please to give 


268 THE DECAMERON 


me a lodging ?”—*‘ Daughter,” replied he, “you shall be 
very welcome; but I must acquaint you that there are 
companies of people, both friends and enemies, continually 
passing this way, who do us great injury sometimes; and 
should any of them find you here, they might offer rude- 
ness, and we not have it in our power to help you. : I 
apprise you of this that you may lay no blame upon us if 
such a thing should happen.” The lady, seeing it was late, 
though she was terrified with the old man’s words, said, 
‘IT trust to God for my protection, as to what you mention; 
but if that should happen, I may expect more mercy from 
men than from beasts.” She then alighted from her steed, 
and went to supper with them upon such poor diet as they 
had, and afterwards lay down upon their bed with her 
clothes on, lamenting her own misfortune and her lover’s 
all the night, not knowing whether she had more cause to 
hope or fear on his account. About break of day, she 
heard a great noise of people on horseback, and im- 
mediately she arose, and went into a great yard behind the 
house, in one corner of which was a stack of hay, and there 
hid herself. This was no sooner done but a knot of thieves 
was at the door, which was instantly opened to them, and 
seeing there the lady’s horse and saddle, they asked whom 
it belonged to? The honest man, seeing nothing of her, 
made answer, ‘‘ Nobody is here, but this horse came to us 
last night, having got away I suppose from his owner, and 
we took him in that he should not be devoured by the 
wolves.”—-‘ Then,” quoth the captain, “fas he has no 
master he shall be ours.” Being dispersed up and down 
the house and yard, and laying down their lances and 
targets, one of them by chance thrust his spear into the 
hay where she had hid herself, and which was so near 
killing her that she was on the point of making a discovery, 
for it pierced her clothes; but, recollecting herself, she 
resolved to lie still, In the meantime they fell to boiling 
some kids and other flesh meat that they had brought with 
them, and after they had eat and drunk, they went about 
their business, carrying off the horse. When they were 
gotten some distance from the house, the honest man 
began to inquire of his wife what was become of the lady, 


FIFTH DAY 269 


as he had never seen her since he rose. She replied that 
she could not tell, and went all about to seek forher. Now 
the lady, finding that the men were departed, came forth 
from whence she had been concealed, which he was much 
pleased at, finding that she had not fallen into their hands ; 
and he said to her, “It is now daylight, we will go with 
you therefore to a castle about five miles from us, where 


you may be in safety; but you will’ be obliged to travel on 


‘foot, for these sorry fellows have taken your horse quite 


away.” She was under no great concern for that loss, but 
begged for them to show her the way, when they set 
forward, and arrived there betimes in the morning. Now 
the castle belonged to one of the family of the Orsini, 
whose name was Liello di Campo di Fiore, and by great 
fortune his lady was then there, a worthy good woman, 
who seeing her soon recollected her, and received her with 
the utmost respect, inquiring by what means she had come 


hither. She then related the whole story. On which the 


other, who knew Pietro, he being a friend of her husband’s, 
was under great concern, supposing him to be dead; and 


she said to her, “‘ As it happens that you know not where 
he is, I intend you shall abide with me till I have an 
opportunity of conveying you safe to Rome.” 

Now as for Pietro, he had but a dismal night of it, for 
he saw his horse soon surrounded by a number of wolves, 


_which made him break his bridle; and he endeavoured to 


make his escape, but was so encompassed that he could 
not, and he defended himself with kicking and biting for 
some time, till at last he was pulled down, ‘and torn all to 


pieces, and having devoured him to the very bones, they 


went away. This was the utmost affliction to Pietro, who 
expected much from his horse, after all the fatigue that he 
had undergone; and he began now to despair of ever get- 
ting out of the forest. It being at this time almost day, 
and he nearly dead with cold, as he was looking about 
him, he chanced to spy a fire at last, about a mile off: 


_when it was quite light, therefore, he descended from the 


tree, not without a great deal of fear, and directed his 
course thither, where he found some shepherds making 
merry together, who received him out of mere compassion ; 


270 THE DECAMERON 


when, after he had eat and warmed himself, he related his 
whole adventure, inquiring whether. there was no town or 
castle in those parts that he could go to, The shepherds 
told him that three miles off was a castle belonging to 
Liello di Campo di Fiore, whose lady was then there... He 
presently entreated some of them to go with him, and two 
readily offered their service. Being arrived, he was known, 
and as. he was going to send out to seek his mistress, he 
was called by the lady of the castle, and on stepping up to 
her he beheld Angelina, which made him the happiest man 
in the world: and if he was thus transported she was no 
less so. The lady giving them a handsome reception, and 
hearing what had happened to both, began to reprimand 
him for attempting to do what was so disagreeable to his 
parents; but seeing him resolved, and finding that he was 
agreeable to the lady, she said, ‘‘ What should I trouble 
myself for? They like each other and are both my hus- 
band’s friends; besides, it seems as if Providence would 
have it so, seeing that one escaped from being hanged, the 
other from being stabbed by a lance, and both from being 
devoured by wild beasts. Then let it be done.” Turning 
to them now, she said, ‘‘If you are resolved to be man 
and wife together, I am content and will celebrate the 
wedding at my husband’s expense : afterwards I will under- 
take to make peace between you and your friends.” Thus 
they were married in the castle, to their great joy, and 
with all the magnificence that the country would afford ; 
and in a few days the lady carried them both to) Rome, 
when she tookecare to reconcile Pietro and his parents, 
who were much enraged at what he had done. He lived 
afterwards with Angelina, in all peace and happiness, to a 
good old age. , 


NOVEL IV 


Ricciardo Manardi is found by Lizto along with his daughter, whom 
he marries, and they become reconciled together. 


Exiza was listening to the commendations her novel ex- 
cited, when the queen laid the next charge on Philostratus, 
who smiled, and began in this manner. 


FIFTH DAY 271% 


I have been so often lashed by you for giving a harsh 
and melancholy subject, that, by way of recompence, I 
think myself obliged to say something which will make 
you laugh: I shall therefore relate a love affair, which, 
after being attended with nothing worse than a few sighs 
and a short fright, mingled with some shame, was brought 
to a happy ending; and this in a very short novel. Not 
long since there lived in Romagna a worthy and accom- 
plished knight, named Lizio da Valbona, who had, in his 
old age, by his lady, Madam Giacomina, a daughter, the 
most beautiful young lady in all the country: being their 
only child, they were extremely tender and careful of her, 
thinking through her to make some grand alliance. Now 
there was a young gentleman, who used to come much to 
their house, of a very agreeable person, whilst Lizio and 
his lady were under no more apprehensions from him than 
they would have been from their own son; but he seeing 
her often, and being charmed with her person and _ be- 
haviour, fell secretly in love; which she perceiving, soon 
returned by a reciprocal affection, which delighted him 
exceedingly, and he was often desirous of speaking to her, 
yet could never dare to do it: till at length he had the 
opportunity and courage one day to say, ‘‘ Pray, Caterina, 
let me not die for love.” She replied, ‘‘ Would to Heaven 
you would show me the like mercy!” This greatly pleased 
him, and he. added, “I shall study your will and pleasure 
in everything; do you find a way to make us happy to- 
gether.” She then returned, ‘You see, sir, how I am 
watched, and therefore am unable to contrive the means 
for your coming to me: but if you can think of any method 
to do it, without my being censured, tell me, and I shall 
be very glad.” He, after mature consideration, said, ‘‘ My 
dearest Caterina, I see no other. way, but for you to 
get leave to lie in the gallery, which looks towards the 
garden; and if I knew when that happened, I would en- 
deavour to get to you, however great the height from the 
ground.” She replied, ‘‘ If you have the courage to come, 
I think I can manage so as to lie there.” He promised 
to do so, and for the present they parted. The follow- 
ing day, it being about the end of May, she complained 


272 THE DECAMERON 


grievously to her mother, that the heat was so excessive 
the foregoing night, that she could not get a wink of sleep. 
“Daughter,” answered she, “you talk of heat, I do not 
think the weather so sultry.”—-‘‘ Madam,” she replied, 
“there is a good deal of difference between old people 
and young.”—-‘‘ That may be so,” quoth the mother, ‘‘ but 
can I change the seasons? You must bear with the time 
of year as it is: another night it may be more temperate, 
and then you will sleep better.” — “I wish it would,” 
answered Caterina, “but the nights are not used to grow 
cooler, the more the summer advances.”——“ Then,” said 
the mother, “what would you have me do for your” She 
replied, ‘If you and my father please, I would gladly lie 
in the gallery adjoining to your room, and which looks 
towards the garden; where, by having plenty of fresh air, 
and hearing the nightingale, it will be much more’ pleasant 
than lying in your chamber.”—‘‘ Daughter,” quoth she, ‘ be 
easy, I will speak to your father about it, and we will do 
as he thinks best in that case.” Accordingly she moved 
the matter to Lizio, who being old, was apt to be a little 
testy, and he said, “‘ What nightingale is this she talks of? 
I will make her sleep at the singing of a cricket.” Caterina 
nearing this, kept awake the next night, more through 
vexation than heat, and was not only restless herself, but 
kept her mother also from sleeping. The next morning 
the old lady complained to her husband, saying, ‘ You 
show very little regard for your daughter: what does her 
lying in the gallery signify to you? she did not rest all last 
night for the heat. And as to her fancy of the nightingale, 
she is young, let her have her way?” He replied, “Then 
make her a bed there, if you will; and let her hear the 
nightingale.” A bed, therefore, was ordered to be set up 
for her, which she gave Ricciardo to understand, by such 
a sign as had been agreed on between them, when he soon 
knew what part he had to act. Lizio, upon her going to 
bed, locked the door that opened out of his chamber into 
the gallery, and then went to rest himself. As soon as 
everything was still, Ricciardo got upon the wall, by help 
of a scaling ladder, from whence laying hold of the join- 
ings of another wall, he climbed at last (not without great 


FIFTH DAY 273 


difficulty, as well as danger had he fallen) to the gallery, 
where the lady had long been expecting him.—Now the 
nights being short, and happening to fall asleep with her, » 
the next morning, as soon as Lizio arose, he began to think 
of his daughter ; when he opened the door, and said, ‘‘ Let 
us go see now how the nightingale has made her sleep.” 
Going then into the gallery, and drawing the curtains, he 
found Ricciardo and her asleep together: upon this he 
stepped back, and called to his wife, saying, ‘“ Come 
hither directly ; you will find your daughter has heard the 
nightingale to some purpose.” Dressing herself as fast as 
she could, she followed her husband, and seeing them 
together in that manner, was going to give Ricciardo all 
the hard language she could devise ; but Lizio said, ‘‘ Take 
care, I charge you to make no noise about it; as he has 
now got her he shall keep her: he is of a good family, as 
well as rich, so we cannot have a better son-in-law. If 
he means. to go off in a whole skin, he shall marry her 
before I part with him.” The wife on this was a little 
comforted, and held her peace. Soon after this debate, 
Ricciardo chanced to wake, and seeing it broad daylight, 
was frightened out of his wits; calling then upon Caterina, 
he said: “Alas! my life, what shall we do? the daylight 
has surprised me here with you.” At these words Lizio 
stepped from behind the curtain, and said, ‘Oh I will 
take care you shall do well enough.” . Ricciardo was quite 
confounded at seeing him, and rising up in bed, he said, 
“For Heaven’s sake, sir, I beg you will forgive me; 1 
confess I do deserve to die; save but my life, therefore, 
and do what you please.” Lizio replied, ‘‘ Ricciardo, my 
friendship for you did not deserve such a return as I have 
met with: but since it is so, you have only one way whereby 
you may save your life and my honour, that is, to marry 
her; either do that, or else make your peace with Heaven, 
for here you shall die.” There was no need of many 
words: the fear of death, as well as his love for Caterina, 
soon made him resolve, and he told him that he was ready 
to comply. Lizio then took his wife’s ring, and made him 
instantly espouse her, which being done, he desired them 
to take their own time for rising. In the morning they 


274 THE DECAMERON 


had some further discourse together, and everything being 
settled to all their satisfactions, he married her in the most 
public manner, and having carried her home: with ‘great 
demonstrations of joy, they lived together from that time, 
with all the peace and comfort that a married state can 
afford. ih 


NOVEL V 


Guidotto da Cremona dying, left.a daughter to the care of Giacomino 
da Pavia. Gtannole di Severino and Minghino di Mingole are 
both in love with her, and fight on her account, when she is known 
to be Giannole’s sister, and is married to Minghino. 


Every one laughed at the story of the nightingale ; when 
the queen turned to Philostratus, and said, “If you gave 
us concern with your subject of yesterday, you» have made 
ample amends: by your last story, therefore you shall hear 
no more of it.” She then turned to Neiphiley3 who iss ip 
in this manner :— 

As Philostratus lays his scene in Romagna, I intend to 
have my novel also from thence. In the city then of Fano 
dwelt two Lombards, one named Guidotto da Cremona, 
and the other Giacomino da Pavia, both advanced in years, 
and men who had lived as soldiers all their days. When 
Guidotto being at the point of death, and having no son, 
nor friend, in whom he put greater confidence than in 
Giacomino, after settling all his affairs, he left to his care 
a daughter of about ten years of age, with the management 
of his whole substance. In the meantime the city of 
Faenza, which had been long embroiled in wars and con- 
fusion, being now brought into a more flourishing state, 
and every one that pleased having leave to:return, it chanced 
that Giacomino, who had formerly lived there, and liked 
the place, went back with all his effects, carrying this 
young lady along with him, whom he loved and treated as 
his own child, and who, as she grew up, became the most 
celebrated beauty in the whole city, and as accomplished 
in all respects as she was fair; on which account she began 
to be admired by divers young gentlemen, but two especi- 
ally of equal fortunes were so much in love, that an utter 


FIFTH DAY 275 


hatred commenced between them for her sake; one was 
called Giannole di Severino, and the other Minghino di 
Mingole. Either of these gentlemen would gladly: have 
married her, she being now fifteen; but finding themselves 
rejected by her friends, they resolved to try other means of 
obtaining her. Giacomino had in his house an old maid- 
servant, and a man cailed Crivello, a facetious, as well as 
an honest person, with whom Giannole was acquainted, to 
whom he made known his love, offering at’the same time a 
great reward, if, by his assistance, he should in any way 
obtain his desire. Said Crivello, ‘“Sir, I can do nothing 
more for you than, when my master is gone out to sup 
anywhere, to bring you where she is, for were I to put ina 
word for you, she would never give me the hearing: if you 
like this, I dare promise you so far, afterwards’ you may do 
what you think most proper.” Giannole told him he de- 
sired no more. On the other part Minghino made his 
court to the maid, who had delivered several messages to 
the lady in his favour, and given her a good opinion of him ; 
she had also undertaken to introduce him the first evening 
that Giacomino happened to be abroad. Soon after this it 
happened that Giacomino was invited out by Crivello’s 
contrivance, who immediately gave notice to Giannole, and 
agreed with him to come, upon giving a certain sign when 
he would find the door open. In like manner the maid, 
being unacquainted with this, informed Minghino of the 
same thing, adding, that, upon observing such a token, 
he should then come into the house. In the evening the 
two lovers, knowing nothing of one another, but yet each 
jealous of his rival, came with some friends armed for their 
greater security. Minghino waited at a friend’s in the 
neighbourhood to watch for the sign, whilst Giannole, with 
his people, stood a little distance from the house. Now 
Crivello and the maid were contriving to send each other 
out of the way. He said then to her, “ Why do you not 
go to bed? What are you doing about the house?” ‘The 
maid said again, ‘“Why do not you go to your master, you 
have had your supper? What do you stay for, then?” 
But neither of them was able to send the other away. 
Crivello at last knowing the time to be come that he had 


276 THE DECAMERON 


appointed, said to himself, ‘‘What need I care for this 
woman? If she will not hold her tongue, I will find a way 
to make her.” Giving the signal then he went to open the 
door, when Giannole, with two of his companions, immedi- 
ately rushed in, and finding the lady in the hall, they 
seized, and were going to carry her off: the lady, however, 
defended herself as well as she could, crying out very much, 
as did also the maid. Minghino perceiving this, ran 
thither with his party, and seeing them bear her away, they 
drew their swords, and called out aloud, “ Traitors, ye are 
all dead men; it shall never be so. What violence is 
this?” And with these words fell pell-mell upon them. 
The neighbourhood also was soon up in arms, and blaming 
those proceedings, joined with Minghino. Therefore, after 
a long skirmish, Minghino took the lady from Giannole, 
and brought her back to Giacomino’s house. Nor was the 
fray at an end till the city officers came and seized many 
of the persons concerned, and amongst the rest Minghino, 
Giannole, and Crivello, and carried them to prison. As 
soon as things were a little quieted, and Giacomino re- 
turned, he became very uneasy at what had happened, till 
hearing that she was not in fault, he was better satisfied, 
but resolved, for fear of: the like accidents hereafter, to 
marry her as soon as possible. In the morning, the parents 
of them both, having heard the truth of the story, and 
being sensible of the evil which might ensue to both the 
young gentlemen, who were in custody, should Giacomino 
proceed rigorously against them, they came therefore to 
him, and entreated him gently not to regard so much the 
injury which he had received from the little discretion of 
the young men, as the esteem and friendship which, they 
hoped, he bore towards themselves, who now requested 
this favour at his hands; submitting themselves, and the 
youths also, who had committed the offence, to make any 
satisfaction he should insist upon. Giacomino, who had 
seen much of the world, and was a person of understanding, 
answered in few words, ‘Gentlemen, were I in my own 
country, as I am now in yours, I hold myself so much 
your friend, that I should do this or anything else to oblige 
you; but in this respect I am the more ready to do it, as 


FIFTH DAY 277 


the offence is now committed against yourselves. For this 
lady is not, as many may think, either of Cremona or Pavia, 
but of Faenza; although neither myself, nor she, nor yet 
the person who bequeathed her to me, knew whose daughter 
she was ; everything then shall be done according to your 
desire.” ‘The honest men hearing that she was of Faenza, 
began to wonder; and after thanking him for his gracious 
reply, they desired he would be so kind as to tell them in 
what manner she came into his hands, and how he knew 
that she was of Faenza. He replied, ‘‘Guidotto da Cremona 
was my very good friend and companion, and as he lay 
upon his death-bed, he told me, that when this city was 
taken by the Emperor Frederick, and given to be pillaged 
by the soldiers, he and some others went into a house full 
of rich booty, which was forsaken by the owners; only this 
girl, who seemed then but two years old, was left behind ; 
and she seeing him go upstairs, called papa; for which 
reason he took pity on her, and brought her away, with 
everything that was of value in the house, to Fano; when 
dying there, he left her in charge to me, desiring, when she 
should be of age, that I would marry her, and give what 
was her own, by way of fortune: since, therefore, she has 
been grown up, I have met with nobody that I thought a 
fit match for her, otherwise I would willingly dispose of her, 
lest the like accident should happen again that befel us last 
night.” At this time there was present one Gulielmino da 
Medicina, who was with Guidotto in that expedition, and 
knew very well whose house it was that he had plundered, 
and seeing that person in the company, he accosted him, 
and said, ‘‘ Bernarbuccio, do you hear what Giacomino has 
been talking of ?”—‘ Yes,” he replied, “and I am now 
thinking about it; for in that confusion I remember to 
have lost a daughter about the same age that he speaks of.” 
—“ Then,” said Gulielmino, ‘‘It is certainly the same, for I 
was there at that time, and heard Guidotto relate how he 
plundered such a house, when I knew it must be yours: 
see therefore if you can call to mind any mark that she had, 
whereby you may know her, for she is plainly your daughter.” 
He then remembered that she had a scar like a cross under 
her left ear, and he desired Giacomino to show him to his 


278 THE DECAMERON 


house, that he might convince himself by seeing her. Ac. 
cordingly, he brought him thither very willingly, when the 
very first sight of her put him in mind of her mother; but, 
not regarding that, he told Giacomino that he should take 
it as a favour if he might turn aside the hair from her left 
ear; which being permitted, he found the same mark, and 
was convinced that she was his daughter: he then said to 
Giacomino, ‘‘ Brother, this is my daughter ; it was my house 
that Guidotto pillaged, when this child was forgotten by her 
mother, in our great hurry, and we supposed that she was 
burnt along with the house.” The lady hearing this, and 
seeing him to be a person of gravity, moved also perhaps by 
a secret instinct, easily gave credit to it, and both of them 
burst into tears. Bernarbuccio then sent for her mother 
and her other relations, as also her sisters and brethren, 
when, relating what had happened, he carried her home, 
to the great joy of them all, as well as satisfaction of 
Giacomino. Whilst the governor of the city, who was a 
worthy man, knowing that Giannole, whom: he had in 
custody, was son to Bernarbuccio, and the lady’s own 
brother, resolved to overlook the crime he had committed. 
Conversing then with Bernarbuccio and Giacomino about 
it, he undertook to make peace between Giannole and 
Minghino, to whom, by the consent of all parties, he gave 
her to wife, and set all the other people at liberty. . Ming- 
hino then made a most sumptuous wedding, and carried his 
bride home in great state, where they lived happily together 
for a i ie course of years. 


NOVEL VI 


Gianni di Procida ts discovered with a young lady, formerly his 
mistress, but then given to King Frederick, for which he ts con- 
demned to be burnt with her at a stake. When, being known by 
Ruggtert del? Oria, he escapes and marries her, 


NEIPHILE’s agreeable novel being ended, Pampinea received 
an order to proceed, and quickly raising her lovely coun- 
tenance, she thus began :— 

Great, most gracious ladies, is the force of love, which 


FIFTH DAY 279 


often leads people to rash and perilous attempts, as you 
have heard set forth in divers instances, both now and 
heretofore, and which I shail further evince in what I 
am going to relate concerning an enamoured youth, as 
follows :— 

Ischia is an island near Naples, in which lived a beautiful 
young lady named Restituta, daughter to a certain gentle- 
man called Marin Bolgaro, with whom was in love a young 
gentleman of Procida, cailed Gianni, and she had the same 
affection for him. Now not a day passed but he would go 
to Ischia to see her, and frequently in the night; if he 
could not get a boat, he would swim over, though it was 
only to please himself with the sight of her house. Whilst 
his love continued then so extremely fervent, it chanced 
that she was walking out one summer's day on the sea- 
shore, and passing from one rock to another picking up 
shells, when she came near a grotto, where some young 
Sicilians, just come from Naples, were assembled together, 
partly for the sake of the shade, and partly for the fresh 
water, of which there was a cool and pleasant spring: they 
seeing her by herself, and she perceiving nothing of them, 
agreed together to seize and carry hervaway. They con- 
sequently surprised and took her to their ship, though she 
made a great outcry, and sailed off with her. Being arrived 
at Calabria, a dispute arose amongst them, whom she 
should belong to; when coming to no agreement about 
her, it was at last thought convenient, to remove all cause 
of dissension, by making a present of her to Frederick, 
King of Naples, who was young and addicted to his 
pleasures. Accordingly they found that prince mightily 
pleased with her; but, being a little indisposed at that 
time, he had her sent to a pleasant seat built in one of his 
gardens called La Cuba, to be kept there for his purpose. 
The lady’s being stolen made a great noise all over Ischia, 
and so much the more as the persons concerned were 
unknown. But Gianni, who was more particularly. in- 
terested in the affair, never expecting to hear any tidings 
of her there, and understanding which way the vessel had 
steered, got another ready and went all along the sea-coast, 
from Minerva to Scalea, in Calabria, to inquire after her ; 


280 THE DECAMERON 


and at this last place he was told, that she was carried by 
some Sicilian sailors to Palermo. Thither then he went, 
with all possible speed, when, after much inquiry, he found 
that she was presented to the king, and kept for his 
purpose in La Cuba; which gave him infinite concern, and 
he began to despair, not only of getting her back, but even 
of ever seeing her more; but yet being detained by his 
love, he sent his frigate home, and resolved to stay there, 
as nobody knew him; when passing pretty often in sight 
of the house, they chanced one day to spy one another 
through the window, to the great satisfaction of both. And 
he, seeing the place was private, got near enough to speak 
to her, and being instructed by her what course to take if 
he desired to have a nearer interview, he left her for that 
time, taking particular notice, first, of the situation of the 
place ; and waiting for night, when a good part of that was 
spent, he returned, and clambering over the walls, which 
seemed inaccessible, he made his way into the garden, 
where finding a long piece of timber, he set it against the 
window, and by the help of it got into the chamber. The 
lady, reflecting that she had lost her honour, of which she 
had before been very tenacious, supposing, also, that she 
could bestow her favours on none who deserved them 
better, was the less scrupulous in this affair, and had left 
the casement open on purpose for him. She now begged 
earnestly of him that he would contrive some method to 
get her from thence, and he promised to order everything 
so that the next time he came he would take her away. 
This being agreed, he went and lay down on the bed by 
her. In the meantime the king being much smitten with 
her beauty, and finding himself recovered, had a mind, 
though it was far in the night, to go and spend some time 
with her. Coming, therefore, with a few servants, to the 
house, and going softly to the chamber where he knew she 
was, to his great surprise he saw Gianni and her asleep 
together. This provoked him to that degree, that he was 
on the point of putting both to death: till reflecting that 
it would be base in any person, and more so in a king, to 
kill people unarmed and asleep, he held his hand, but 
resolved to make a public example of them, and to burn 


FIFTH DAY 281 


them alive. Then turning to one of his company he said, 
**What do you think of this base woman on whom I had 
fixed all my hopes?” He afterwards inquired if they knew 
the man, who had the assurance to come there to commit 
such an outrage. The person replied that he did not 
remember ever to have seen him before. The king upon 
_ this went away greatly disturbed, commanding that as soon 
as it was light they should be brought bound to Palermo, 
when they were to be tied back to back, and kept there 
till three o’clock, for everybody to see them, and then to 
be burned as they deserved. Accordingly they were seized 
and bound without the least remorse or pity; and being 
brought, as the king had ordered, to Palermo, they were 
tied to a stake in the great square, and the fire and faggots 
were ready to burn them at the time appointed: whilst all 
the people of the city flocked to see the sight, the women 
greatly pitying and commending the man; the men 
_ also showed the same regard for the poor woman, every 
one highly admiring her most extraordinary beauty. But 
the two lovers stood with their eyes fixed on the ground, 
lamenting their hard fate, and waiting every moment for 
their sentence to be put in execution. Whilst they were 
kept in this manner, till the time fixed upon, the news 
was carried to Ruggieri dell’ Oria, a person of great worth 
and valour, who was the king’s high admiral; and he 
coming to the place, cast his eyes first upon the lady and 
praised her beauty very much. He then turned to Gianni, 
when he soon called him to mind, and asked him if he was 
not Gianni di Procida. Gianni lifted up his eyes, and 
remembering the admiral, he said, “‘ I was once that person ; 
but now I am to be so no more.” The admiral then in- 
quired what it was had brought him to this. Gianni 
replied, “ Love and the king’s displeasure.” The admiral 
made him tell the whole story, and as he was going away, 
Gianni called him back, and said, ‘“‘My lord, if it be 
possible, pray obtain one favour of his Majesty for me.” 
Ruggieri asked what that was. Gianni made answer, “I 
find that I am to die without delay ; therefore I only beg 
that, as I am tied with my back to this lady, whom I have 
loved dearer than my own life, and am not able to see her, 


282 THE DECAMERON 


that we may be bound with our faces to each other, and 
so I may expire with the pleasure of looking upon her.” 
Ruggieri laughed, and said, “I will take care that you 
shall see her to much better purpose.” And he com- 
manded those who had the care of the execution to respite 
it till further orders, and he went directly to the king. 
Finding him a good deal out of temper, he spared not to 
speak his mind to this effect :—‘‘ My lege, what have these 
two young people done to offend you, whom you have now 
ordered to be burnt?” The king told him. He then 
added, ‘Their crime may deserve it, but not from you: 
and as misdeeds require punishment, so benefits are worthy 
of rewards, as well as thanks and mercy. Do you know 
who they are whom you have sentenced to be burnt?” 
The king answered, ‘‘ No.”—‘* Then,” said he, ‘I will tell 
you that you may see how wisely you suffer yourself to 
be transported with passion. The young man is son to 
Landolpho, brother to Gianni di Procida, by whose means 
you are lord of that island. The lady is daughter to Marin 
Bolgaro, whose influence it was that secured your dominion 
over Ischia. Besides, they have had a long regard and 
love for each other; and it was this, and no disrespect to 
you that put them upon committing the crime, if it may be 
called such, for which you are going to make them suffer 
death, but for which you ought rather give them some 
noble reward.” The king hearing this, and being assured 
that the admiral spoke nothing but the truth, not only put 
a stop to the proceedings, but was grieved for what he had 
done: he therefore ordered that they should be set at 
liberty, and brought before him, Then hearing their whole 
case, he resolved to make them amends for the injury they 
had received, and giving them noble apparel and many 
royal presents, he had: them married, as it was their mutual 
desire, and afterwards sent them home, thoroughly satisfied 
with their good fortune, which they pi happily enjoyed 
together. 


FIFTH DAY 283 


NOVEL VII 


Theodoro is in love with Violante, his master’s daughter ; she proves 
with child, for which he is condemned to be hanged ; when being 
led out to execution, he is known by his father, set at liberty, and 
afterwards marries her. 


THE ladies were some time in suspense, through fear lest 
the two lovers should be burnt; but were mightily pleased 
at last to hear of their deliverance: when the queen gave 
the next command to Lauretta, who cheerfully took up the 
thread as follows :— 

When good King William ruled over Sicily, there lived 
in that island a gentleman named Amerigo, abbot of 
Trapani, who, amongst his other temporal goods, was well 
stored with children ; and having occasion for servants, and 
meeting with some Genoese pirates from the Levant, who 
had been coasting along Armenia, and taken several children, 
supposing them to be Turks, he bought some, in appearance 
chiefly peasants; and, amongst the rest, one of a more 
generous aspect, called Theodoro; who, as he grew up, 
though he was treated as a servant, was educated with 
Amerigo’s own children; when his natural disposition was 
so good and agreeable to his master, that he had him 
baptized and called him Pietro, making him overseer of 
all his affairs. Amongst Amerigo’s other children was a 
daughter, named Violante, a most beautiful young lady, 
who, having been kept from marrying longer than was 
agreeable to her, cast her eye at last upon Pietro, being 
charmed with his. behaviour, though she was ashamed to 
make such a discovery. ~ But love spared her this trouble ; 
for he, by often looking cautiously at her, was so far capti- 
vated, that he was always uneasy unless he saw her: at the 
same time he was fearful lest any one should perceive it, as 
thinking it a sort of crime. This she soon took notice of; 
and, to give him a little more assurance, let him understand 
that it was not displeasing to her. ‘Thus they went on 
together, neither venturing to speak to the other, though it 
was what they both desired. But whilst they thus mutually 


284 THE DECAMERON 


languished, fortune, as if purposely, found means to banish 
this bashfulness, which had hitherto been in the way. 
Amerigo had a country house about a mile from Trapani, 
whither his wife and daughter, together with other ladies, 
used to go sometimes, by way of pastime; and being there 
one day, having taken Pietro along with them, it happened 
that the day was overcast all at once with clouds, on which 
account the lady and her friends made all possible haste 
home again, for fear they should be taken in the storm. 
But Pietro and the young lady being more nimble than the 
rest, had got considerably the start of them, as much per- 
haps through love as fear of the weather, and being out of 
sight, there came such claps of thunder, attended with a 
violent storm of hail, that the mother and her company 
were glad to get into a labourer’s house, whilst Pietro and 
the young lady, having no other place of refuge, went into 
an old uninhabited cottage, which had just cover enough 
remaining to keep them dry; and here they were obliged 
to stand pretty close together. This encouraged him to 
open his heart, and he said, ‘‘ Would to heaven the storm 
would never cease, that I might continue here always in 
this manner!”—‘I should like it,” she replied, ‘“‘ well 
enough.” These words brought on some little acts of 
fondness, which were followed by others so far that at last 
they grew very familiar together. The shower being over, 
they went on towards the city, waiting by the way for the 
mother, who having joined them, they came with her home. 
They had frequent meetings from that time, conducted 
always with the greatest secrecy; till at length she proved 
with child, which terribly alarmed them both. On this 
Pietro, being in fear of his own life, resolved to fly, and 
told her so. She replied, “If you do that, I will certainly 
murder myself.” Pietro, then, who loved her most affec- 
tionately, said, ‘‘Why would you have me stay? There 
must soon be a discovery, when for your part you will be 
easily forgiven, and I forced to bear the punishment of both.” 
She made answer, ‘‘ Pietro, my crime must be known; but 
as for yours, be assured unless you tell it yourself, it never 
shall.”—“* Then,” quoth he, ‘‘if you promise me that, I will 
stay ; but be sure you observe it.” The young lady who 


FIFTH DAY 285 


had concealed as long as possible her being with child, 
finding it could be kept a secret no longer, let her mother 
at last into the truth, entreating her protection with abund- 
ance of tears. The mother was very harsh with her, and 
insisted upon knowing how it happened: when she, to 
keep her word with Pietro, feigned a long story about it, 
to which the other easily gave credit, and, to keep it 
_ private, sent her away to one of their farm-houses, When 
the time of her labour was at hand, the mother, never 
suspecting anything of her husband’s coming, it chanced 
that Amerigo, returning from hawking, thought, as he 
passed under the window, that he heard something of a 
noise and bustle above stairs, when he came in, and 
inquired what the matter was. The lady, seeing her 
husband, told him, with a great deal of concern, what had 
happened to their daughter. But he, not quite so credu- 
lous as herself, said it was impossible that she should be 
with child and not know by whom, and he insisted upon 
knowing it: by that means she might regain his favour, 
otherwise he would put her to death without the least 
mercy. The lady tried all she could to make him satisfied 
with that story, but to no purpose. He ran to his daughter 
with his drawn sword (who, whilst they had been in dis- 
course together, had brought forth a boy), and_ said, 
“Either declare the father, or thou shalt die instantly.” 
She, terrified to death, broke her promise to Pietro, 
and made a full discovery. He was so enraged at this, 
that he could scarcely forbear murdering her, till having 
vented something of his passion, he mounted his horse 
again, and returned to Trapani; when making his com- 
plaint to one Signor Currado, who was governor there for 
the king, of the injury Pietro had done him, he had him 
apprehended, and he confessed the whole affair. Being 
condemned to be whipped and afterwards hanged; that 
the same hour might put an end to the lives of both the 
lovers and the child; Amerigo, whose anger was not ap- 
peased with Pietro’s death, sent a cup of poison and a 
naked sword by one of his servants to his daughter, saying, 
‘Go carry these two things to Violante, and tell her from 
me that she must take her choice, whether to die by poison 


286 THE DECAMERON 


or by the sword; and if she refuse, I will have her burnt 
publicly as she deserves: when you have done this, take 
her child and dash its brains out, and then throw them to 
the dogs.” The fellow, more disposed to such wickedness 
than anything that was good, went readily enough about 
his errand. Now Pietro was whipped, and as he was led 
along to the gallows, he chanced to pass by an inn, where 
lodged three noblemen of Armenia, who were sent as 
ambassadors by their king to the Pope, to treat of some 
weighty affairs with regard to an expedition he was going 
to make. There they stayed to repose themselves after 
their journey, and had great honour shown them by the 
nobility of Trapani, and especially by Amerigo. Observing 
the people pass by who were leading Pietro, they went to 
the window to see what was the matter. Pietro stood 
stripped to the waist, with his hands tied behind him ; 
when one of the ambassadors, named Phineo, an ancient 
person, and one of great authority, looking at him, saw a 
red spot on his breast, which children sometimes are born 
with, and immediately was put in mind of a son that 
had been stolen from him by some pirates fifteen years 
before, of whom he could never since learn any tidings ; 
and considering by Pietro’s looks that he must be about 
the same age, he began to suspect by the mark, that he was 
the very person, and if so he supposed he would remember 
his own name and his father’s, as also something of the 
Armenian language: therefore, being near him, he called 
out “‘O Theodoro!” Hearing that, Pietro lifted up his 
head. Phineo then spoke to him in the Armenian 
language, saying, “‘ Whence do you come, and whose son 
are you?” The officers who led him now stopped, out of 
regard to the worthy person’s character, when Pietro re- 
plied, “I am of Armenia, the son of one Phineo, and was 
brought hither by I know not whom.” 

Phineo was now convinced that he was his son, and he 
came down with his friends full of tears, and ran to embrace 
him among all the officers; when throwing a rich mantle 
over his shoulders, he desired the. person who led him te 
wait till orders should come to take him back; which the 
other replied he should do very willingly. Phineo had 


FIFTH DAY 387 


learned the cause of his sentence, as fame had noised it 
everywhere, when, taking his friends with him and their 
retinue, he went to Currado, and said, ‘‘Sir, the person 
whom you have condemned is no slave, he is a freeman 
and my son: he is ready also to marry the woman; then 
please to defer the execution till it be known whether she be 
willing to have him, that nothing be done contrary to law.” 
Currado was greatly surprised, hearing that he was Phineo’s 
son, and being ashamed of their mistake, confessed that 
what he required was reasonable. He then sent for 
Amerigo, and acquainted him with these things. Amerigo 
was under great concern lest his daughter and her child 
should be put to death before that time, knowing if she 
was alive, everything might be fairly accommodated : there- 
fore he sent in all haste to her, to prevent his orders being 
obeyed, if they were not already performed. The messenger 
found the servant, who had carried the sword and poison 
standing before her, and as she was in no haste to make 
her choice, he was abusing her, and would have forced her 
to have taken one. But hearing his master’s command, 
he returned and told him how it was, at which he was 
thoroughly satisfied, and went to Phineo to beg his pardon 
for what he had done, declaring that if Theodoro would 
marry his daughter he should be perfectly contented. 
Phineo accepted his apology, and assured him, that he 
should either marry her, or else the law should take its 
course. This being agreed, they went to Theodoro (who, 
though rejoiced to find his father, was yet under apprehen- 
sions of dying), and asked him if he consented.. Theodoro, 
hearing that he had it in, his choice to marry his Violante 
was as much rejoiced as if he had gone directly from hell 
to heaven, and replied that he should esteem it as the 
greatest favour in the world. ‘They sent to know her mind 
in the case, who, hearing of what had happened to Theo- 
doro, began to receive a little comfort after all her affliction, 
and she said nothing in the world could be more pleasing 
to her than to be the wife of Theodoro; but yet she should 
always wait her father’s commands. Everything being thus 
settled, the wedding was celebrated to the great joy of the 
whole city. In a little time the bride began to recover her 


288 THE DECAMERON 


looks, and having taken care of the infant, she went to pay 
her respects to Phineo, who, being returned from his em- 
bassy, received her as his daughter, with the utmost joy and 
respect. Soon after they embarked all together for Laiazzo, 
where the two lovers lived peaceably and happily together 
all their lives. 


NOVEL VIII 


Anastasio being in love with a young lady, spent a good part of ht» 
fortune without being able to gain her affections, At the request of 
his relations he retires to Chiasst, where he sees a lady pursued and 
slain by a gentleman, and then given to the dogs to be devoured. 
He invites his friends, along with his mistress, to come and dine 
with him, when they see the same thing, and she, fearing the like 
punishment, takes him for her husband, 


WHEN Lauretta had made an end, Philomena began, by the 
queen’s command thus :— 

Most gracious ladies, as pity is a commendable quality 
in us, in like manner do we find cruelty most severely 
punished by Divine justice ; which, that I may make plain 
to you all, and afford means to drive it from your hearts, 
I mean to relate a novel as full of compassion as it is 
agreeable. ) 

In Ravenna, an ancient city of Romagna, dwelt formerly 
many persons of quality; amongst the rest was a young 
gentleman, named Anastasio degli Honesti, who, by the 
deaths of his father and uncle, was left immensely rich ; 
and, being a bachelor, fell in love with one of the daughters 
of Signor Paolo Traversaro (of a family much superior to 
his own), and was in hopes, by his constant application, 
to gain her affection: but though his endeavours were 
generous, noble, and praiseworthy, so far were they from 
succeeding, that, on the contrary, they rather turned out 
to his disadvantage ; and so cruel, and even savage was the 
beloved fair one (either her singular beauty or noble descent 
having made her thus ‘haughty and scornful), that’ neither 
he nor anything that he did could ever please her. This 
so afflicted Anastasio, that he was going to lay violent 
hands upon himself: but, thinking better of it, he frequently 


FIFTH DAY 289 


thought to leave her entirely; or else to hate her, if he 
could, as much as she had hated him: But this proved a 
vain design ; for he constantly found that the less his hope, 
the greater always his love. Persevering then in his love 
and extravagant way of life, his friends looked upon him 
as destroying his constitution, as well as wasting his sub- 
stance ; they therefore advised and entreated that he would 
leave the place, and go and live somewhere else; for, by 
that means, he might lessen both his love and expense. 
For some time he made light of this advice, till being very 
much importuned, and not knowing how to refuse them, 
he promised to do so; when, making extraordinary pre- 
parations as if he was going some long journey either into 
France or Spain, he mounted his horse, and left Ravenna, 
attended by many of his friends, and went to a place about 
three miles off, called Chiassi, where he ordered tents and 
_ pavilions to be brought, telling those who had accompanied 
him that he meant to stay there, but that they might return: 
to Ravenna. Here he lived in the most splendid manner, 
inviting sometimes this company, and sometimes that, both 
to dine and sup, as he had used to do before. Now it 
happened in the beginning of May, the season being ex- 
tremely pleasant, that, thinking of his cruel mistress, he 
ordered all his family to retire, and leave him to his own 
thoughts, when he walked along, step by step, and lost in 
reflection, till he came to a forest of pines. It being then 
the fifth hour of the day, and he advanced more than half_ 
a mile into the grove, without thinking either of his dinner 
or anything else but his love; on a sudden he seemed to 
hear a most grievous laméntation, with the loud shrieks of 
a woman ; this put an end to his meditation, when looking 
round him, to know what the matter was, he saw come out 
of a thicket full of briars and thorns, and run towards the 
place where he was, a most. beautiful lady, naked, with her 
flesh all scratched and rent by the bushes, crying terribly, 
and begging for mercy. In ciose pursuit of her were two 
fierce mastiffs, biting and tearing wherever they could lay 
hold, and behind upon a black steed, rode a gloomy knight, 
with a dagger in his hand, loading her with the bitterest 
imprecations. ‘The sight struck him at once with wonder 
K 


ae | 


290 THE DECAMERON 


and consternation, as well as pity for the lady, whom he 
was desirous to rescue from such trouble and danger, if 
possible: but finding himself without arms, he seized the 
branch of a tree, instead of a truncheon, and went forward 
with it, to oppose both the dogs and the knight. The 
knight observing this, called out, afar off, “ Anastasio, do 
not concern thyself; but leave the dogs and me to do by 
this wicked woman as she has deserved.” At these words 
the dogs laid hold of her, and he coming up to them, 
dismounted from his horse. Anastasio then stepped up 
to him and said, “I know not who you are, that are 
acquainted thus with me; but I must tell you, that it is 
a most villainous action for a man armed as you are to 
pursue a naked woman, and to set dogs upon her also, as 
if she were a wild beast; be assured that I shall defend 
her to the utmost of my power.” ‘The knight replied, “I 
was once your countryman, when you were but a child, 
\and was called Guido degli Anastagi, at which ‘time I 
was more enamoured with this woman than ever you were 
with Traversaro’s daughter; but she treated me so cruelly, 
and with so much insolence, that I killed myself with this 
dagger which you now see in my hand, for which I am 
doomed to eternal punishment. . Soon afterwards she, who 
was over and above rejoiced at my death, died likewise, 
and for that cruelty, as also for the joy which she expressed 
at my misery, she 1s condemned as well as myself. . Our 
sentences are for her to flee before me; and for me, 
who loved her so well, to pursue her as a mortal enemy; 
and when I overtake her, with this dagger, with which 
1 murdered myself, do 1 murder her; then I open her 
through the back and take out that hard and cold heart 
which neither love nor pity could pierce, with all her en- 
trails, and throw them to the dogs; and in a little time 
(so wills.the justice and power of Heaven) she rises, as 
though she had never been dead, and renews her miserable 
flight, whilst we purse her over again. Every Friday in 
the year, about this time, do I sacrifice her here, as you 
see, and on other days in other places, where she has ever 
thought or done anything against me: and thus being from 
a lover become her mortal enemy, I am to follow her as 


FIFTH DAY 291 


many years as she was cruel to me months. Then let the 
Divine justice take its course, nor offer to oppose what you 
are no way able to withstand.” Anastasio drew back at 
these words, terrified to death, and waited to see what the 
other was going to do: who, having made an end of speak- 
ing, ran at her with the utmost fury, as she was seized by 
the dogs, and kneeled down begging for mercy, when with 
his dagger he pierced through her breast, drawing forth 
her heart and entrails, which the dogs immediately, as if 
half famished, devoured. And in a little time she arose 
again, as if nothing had happened, and fled towards the 
sea, the dogs biting and tearing her all the way; the knight 
also being remounted, and taking his dagger pursued her 
as before, till they soon got out of sight. Upon seeing 
these things, Anastasio stood divided betwixt fear and pity, 
and at length it came into his mind that, as it happened 
always on a Friday, it might be of particular use. Return- 
ing then to his servants, he sent for some of his friends 
and relations, when he said to them, ‘‘ You have often 
importuned me to leave off loving this enemy, and to con- 
tract my expenses; I am ready to do so, provided you 
grant me one favour, which is this, that next Friday, you 
engage Paolo Traversaro, his wife and daughter, with all 
their women friends and relations, to come and dine with 
me: the reason of my requiring this you will see at that 
time.” This seemed to them a small matter, and returning 
to Ravenna they invited all those whom he had desired, 
and though they found it difficult to prevail upon the 
young lady, yet the others carried her at last along with 
them. 

Anastasio had provided a magnificent entertainment in 
the grove where that spectacle had lately been ; and, having 
seated all his company, he contrived that the lady should 
sit directly opposite to the scene of action. The last course 
then was no sooner served up, but the lady’s shrieks began 
to be heard. This surprised them all, and they began to 
inquire what it was, and, as nobody could inform them, 
they all arose; when immediately they saw the lady, dogs, 
and knight, who were soon amongst them. Great was 
consequently the clamour, both against the dogs and > 


ay 


292 THE DECAMERON 


knight, and many of them went to her assistance. But 
the knight made the same harangue to them that he had 
done to Anastasio, which terrified and filled them with 
wonder; whilst he acted the same part over again, the 
ladies, of whom there were many present, related to both 
the knight and lady, who remembered his love and un- 
happy death, ali lamenting as much as if it had happened 
to themselves. This tragical affair being ended, and the 
lady and knight both gone away, they had various argu- 
ments together about it; but none seemed so much affected 
as Anastasio’s mistress, who had heard and seen everything 
distinctly, and was sensible that it concerned: her more 
than any other person, calling to mind her usage of and 
cruelty towards him; so that she seemed to flee before 
him all incensed, with the mastiffs at her heels; and her 
terror was such, lest this should ever happen to her, that, 
turning her hatred into love, she sent that very evening a 
trusty damsel privately to him, who entreated him in her 
name to come to see her, for that she was ready to fulfil 
his desires. Anastasio replied, that nothing could be more 
agreeable to him, but that he desired no favour from her 
but what was consistent with her honour. The lady, who 
'was sensible that it had been always her fault that they 
were not married, answered, that she was willing; and 
going herself to her father and mother, she acquainted 
them with her intention. This gave them the utmost 
satisfaction; and the next Sunday the marriage was 
solemnised with all possible demonstrations of joy. And 
that spectacle was not attended with this good alone; 
but all the women of Ravenna, for the time to come, 
were so terrified with it, that they were more ready to 
listen to, and oblige the men, than ever they had been 
before. 


‘FIFTH DAY 293 


NOVEL IX 


Federigo, being in love, without meeting with any return, spends ail 
kis substance, having nothing left but one poor hawk, which he 
gtves to his lady for ker dinner when she comes to hts house; she, 
knowing this, changes her resolution, and marries him, bv which 
means he becomes very rich. 


THE queen now observing that only herself and Dioneus 
were left to speak, said pleasantly to this effect :— 

As it is now come to my turn, I shall give you a novel 
something like the preceding one, that you may not only 
know what influence the power of your charms has overa 
generous heart, but that you may learn likewise to bestow 
your favours of your own accord, and where you think 
most proper, without suffering Fortune to be your directress, 
who disposes blindly, and without the least judgment what- 
soever. 

You must understand, then, that Coppo di Borghese 
(who was a person of great respect and authority among 
us, and whose amiable qualities, joined to his noble birth, 
had rendered him worthy of immortal fame) in the decline 
of life used to divert himself among his neighbours and 
acquaintances, by relating things which had happened in 
his days, and which he knew how to do with more exact- 
ness and elegance of expression than any other person: 
he, I say, amongst other pleasant stories, used to tell us 
that at Florence dwelt a young gentleman named Federigo, 
son of Filippo Alberighi, who, in feats of arms and gentility, 
surpassed all the youth in Tuscany: this gentleman was in 
love with a lady called Madam Giovanna, one of the most 
agreeable women in Florence, and to gain her affection, 
used to be continually making tilts, balls, and such diver- 
sions; lavishing away his money in rich presents, and 
everything that was extravagant. But she, as just and 
reputable as she was fair, made no account either of what 
he did for her sake, or of himself. Living in this manner, 
his wealth soon began to waste, till at last he had nothing 
left but a very small farm, the income of which was a most 


294 THE DECAMERON 


slender maintenance, and a single hawk, one of the best in 
the world. Yet loving still more than ever, and finding he 
could subsist no longer in the city in the manner he would 
choose to live, he retired to his farm, where he went out 2 
fowling as often as the weather would permit, and bore his 
distress patiently, and without ever making his necessity 
known to anybody. Now, one day it happened, that, as 
he was reduced to the last extremity, the husband to this 
lady chanced to fall sick, who, being very rich, left all his 
substance to an only son, who was almost grown up, and 
if he should die without issue, he then ordered that it 
should revert to his lady, whom he was extremely fond of; 
and when he had disposed thus of his fortune, he died. 
She now, being left a widow, retired, as our ladies usually 
do during the summer season, to a house of hers in the 
country, near to that of Federigo: whence it happened 
that her son soon became acquainted with him, and they 
used to divert themselves together with dogs and hawks; 
when he, having often seen Federigo’s hawk fly, and being 
strangely taken with it, was desirous of having it, though 
the other valued it to that degree, that he knew not how 
to ask for it. This being’ so, the young spark soon fell 
sick, which gave his mother great concern, as he was her 
only child: and she ceased not to attend on and comfort 
him, often requesting, if there was any particular thing 
which he fancied, to let her know it, and promising to 
procure it for him if it were possible. The young gentle- 
man, after many offers of this kind, at last said, “Madam, 
if you could contrive for me to have Federigo’s hawk, I 
should soon be well.” She was in some suspense at this, 
and began to consider how best to act. She knew that 
Federigo had long entertained a liking for her, without the 
least encouragement on her part; therefore she said to her- 
self, “ How can I send or go to ask for this hawk, which I 
hear is the very best of the kind, and what alone maintains 
him in the world? Or how can I offer to take away from 
a gentleman all the pleasure that he has in life?” Being 
in this perplexity, though she was very sure of having it for 
a word, she stood without making any reply, till at last the 
love of her son so far prevailed, that she resolved at all 


FIFTH DAY 295 


events to make him easy, and not send, but go herself, to 
bring it. She then replied, ‘Son, set your heart at rest, 
and think only of your recovery, for I promise you that I 
will go. to-morrow for it the first thing Ido.” This afforded 
him such joy, that he immediately showed signs of amend- 
ment. The next morning she went, by way of a walk, with: 
another lady in company, to his little cottage to inquire 
for him, _ At that time, as it was too early to go out upon 
his diversion, he was at work in his garden. Hearing, 
therefore, that his mistress inquired for him at the door, 
he ran thither, surprised and full of joy; whilst she, with a 
great deal of complaisance, went to meet him; and after 
the usual compliments, she said, ‘Good morning to you, 
sir; 1am come to make you some amends for what you 
have formerly done on my account; what I mean. is, that 
I have brought a companion to take a neighbourly dinner 
with you to-day.” He replied, with a great deal of humility, 
“Madam, I do not remember ever to have received any 
harm by your means, but rather so much good, that if I 
was worth anything at any time, it was due to your singular 
merit, and the love I had for you: and most assuredly this 
courteous visit is more welcome to me than if I had all 
that 1 have wasted. returned to me to spend over again ; 
but you are come to a very poor host.” With these words 
he showed her into his house, seeming much out of coun- 
tenance, and from thence they went into the garden, when, 
haying no company for her, he said, “ Madam, as I have 
nobody else, please.to admit this honest woman, a labourer’s 
wife, to be with you, whilst. I set forth the table.” He, 
although his poverty was extreme, was never so sensible of 
his having been extravagant as now; but finding nothing 
to entertain the lady with, for whose sake, he had treated 
thousands, he was in the utmost perplexity, cursing his 
evil fortune, and running up and down like one out of his 
wits; at length, having neither. money nor anything he 
could pawn, and being willing to give her someth.ng, at 
the same time that he would not make his case known, 
even so much as to his own labourer, he espied his hawk 
upon the perch, which he seized, and finding it very fat, 
judged it might make a dish not unworthy of such a lady, 


296 THE DECAMERON 


Without further thought, then, he pulled his head off, and 
gave him to a girl to truss and roast carefully, whilst he 
laid the cloth, having a small quantity of linen yet left; 
and then he returned, with a smile on his countenance, 
into the garden to her, telling her that what little dinner he 
was able to provide was now ready. She and her friend, 
therefore, entered and sat down with him, he serving them 
all the time with great respect, when they eat the hawk. 
After dinner was over, and they had sat chattering a little 
together, she thought it a fit time to tell her errand, and 
she spoke to him courteously in this manner :— 

Sir, if you call to mind your past life, and my resolu- 
tion, which perhaps you may call cruelty, I doubt not but 
you will wonder at my presumption, when you know what 
I am come for: but if you had children of your own, to 
know how strong our natural affection is towards them, I 
am very sure you would excuse me. Now, my having a 
son forces me, against my own inclinations, and all reason 
whatsoever, to request a thing of you, which I know you 
value extremely, as you have no other comfort or diversion 
left in your small circumstances; I mean your hawk, 
which he has taken sucha fancy to, that unless I bring him 
back with me, I very much fear that he will die of his dis- 
order. Therefore I entreat you, not for any regard you 
have for me (for in that respect you are no way obliged to 
me), but for that generosity with which you have always 
distinguished yourself, that you would please to let me 
have him; by which means you will save my child’s life, 
and lay him under perpetual obligations.” Federigo, 
hearing the lady’s request, and knowing it was out of his 
power to serve her, began to weep before he was able to — 
make a word of reply. This she first thought was his 
great concern to part with his favourite bird, and that he 
was going to give her a flat denial; but after she had 
waited a little for his answer, he said, ‘“‘ Madam, ever since 
I have fixed my affections upon you, fortune has still been | 
contrary to me in many things ; but all the rest is nothing 
to what has now come to pass. You are here to visit me 
in this my poor mansion, and whither in my prosperity you 
would never deign to come; you also entreat a small pre- 


FIFTH DAY 297 


sent from me, which it is no way in my power to give, as 1 
am going briefly to tell you. As soon as I was acquainted 
with the great favour you designed me, I thought it proper, 
considering your superior merit and excellency, to treat 
you, according to my ability, with something more nice 
and valuable than is usually given to other persons, when, 
calling to mind my hawk, which you now request, and his 
goodness, I judged him a fit repast for you, and you have 
had him roasted. Nor could I have thought him better 
bestowed, had you not now desired him in a different 
manner, which is such a grief to me, that I shall never be 
at peace as long as I live:” and upon saying this, he pro- 
duced his feathers, feet, and talons. She began now to 
blame him for killing such a bird to entertain any woman 
with; secretly praising the greatness of his soul, which 
poverty had no power to abase. Thus, having no further 
hopes of obtaining the hawk, she thanked him for the 
respect and good-will he had shown towards her, and 
returned full of concern to her son; who, either out of 
grief for the disappointment, or through the violence of his 
disorder, died in a few days. She continued sorrowful for 
some time; but, being left rich, and young, her brothers 
were very pressing with her to marry again, which, though 
against her inclinations, yet finding them still importunate, 
and remembering Federigo’s great worth, and the late 
instance of his generosity, in killing such a bird for her en- 
tertainment, she said, ‘‘ I should rather choose to continue 
as Iam; but since it is your desire that I take a husband, 
I will have only Federigo degli Alberighi.”. They smiled 
contemptuously at this, and said, ‘‘ You simple woman ! 
what are you talking of? He is not worth one farthing in 
the world.” She replied, ‘‘I believe it, brothers, to be as 
you say: but know, shat J would sooner have a man that 
stands in need of riches, than riches without a man.” ‘They 
hearing her resolution, and well knowing his generous 
temper, gave her to him with all her wealth; and he, seeing 
himself possessed of a lady whom he had so dearly loved, 
and such a vast fortune, lived in all true happiness with 
her, and was a better manager of his affairs for the time 
to come, 
K 2 


298 THE DECAMERON 


NOVEL X 


Pietro di Vinciolo goes to sup at a friends house; his wifein che mean- 
time has her gallant; Pietro returns, when she hides him under 
a chicken coop. Pietro relates, that a young fellow was found in 
Hercolano’s house where he supped, who had been concealed by his 
wife. fietro’s wife blames very much the wife of Hercolane ; 
whilst an ass happening to tread on the young man’s Jingers, who 
lay hidden, he cries out. Pietro runs to see what is the matter, 
and finds out the trick, At length they make tt up. 


THE queen had now made an end, and every one was 
pleased with Federigo’s good fortune, when Dioneus thus 
began :— 

I know not whether I should term it a vice ‘accidental, 
and owing to the depravity of our manners; or whether it 
be not rather a natural infirmity, to laugh sooner at bad 
things than those which are good, especially when they no 
way concern ourselves. Therefore, asthe pains which I 
have before taken, and am also now to undergo, aim at no. 
other end but to drive away melancholy, and to afford 
matter for mirth and laughter, although some part of the 
following novel be not altogether so modest, yet, as it may 
make you merry, I shall venture to relate it; whilst you 
may do in this case, as when you walk in a garden, that 
is, pick the roses, and leave the briars behind you... So 
you may leave the sorry fellow to his own reflections, and 
laugh at the amorous wiles of his wife, having that regard 
for other people’s misfortunes which they deserve. 

There dwelt not long since in Perugia, a very rich man, 
named Pietro di Vinciolo, who, perhaps more to lessen 
people’s bad opinion of him than anything else, took unto 
him a wife. And fortune was conformable to his inclina- — 
tions in this manner; namely, that he met with a woman 
of such a disposition, as required two husbands rather 
than. one. Consequently, they had continual jars and 
animosities together, whilst she would often argue with 
herself in this way: ‘‘I made choice of this. man, and. 
brought him a good fortune, expecting to live comfortably 
with him, and I now find it impossible. Had T not been. 


FIFTH DAY 299 


disposed to be of the world, I would have shut myself up 
in a monastery at once. I shall have old age overtake me 
before I know one good day, and then it will be too late to 
expect it.” Full of such reflections as these, she went at 
last, and made her case known to an old sanctified virgin 
(who was perpetually saying over her Pater Nosters, and 
would talk of nothing else but the lives of the holy fathers, 
and the wounds of St. Francis), and she replied, ‘‘ Daughter, 
you think very rightly, there is no grief equal to that of 
having missed our opportunity, as I can very well bear you 
witness. It is not long that our bloom’ lasts, and we have 
it in our power to do for ourselves; afterwards, pray what 
are we reckoned good for? If you want any assistance, J 
will do my best to serve you; but you must consider that 
I am very poor: I would have you therefore partake of ali 
my pardons and Pater Nosters.” It was then agreed, that 
if the old woman should meet with a certain gentleman in 
the street, whom the other described to her, she then knew 
what she had to’do; and upon this she gave her some 
victuals, and sent her away. The old wretch soon con- 
trived to bring them together, and they had several meet- 
ings: one evening, in particular, the husband being en- 
gaged to sup with a friend of his, called Hercolano, the 
lady and her gallant were no sooner seated at table, but 
Pietro was heard knocking at the door. She was frightened 
out of her wits, and being willing to hide him somewhere 
or, other, and not knowing where to put him better, she 
covered him with the hen-coop, which stood in the next 
room, and throwing an empty sack over it, ran to open the 
door, saying, “ Husband, you have soon made an end of 
your supper.” Pietro replied, ‘I have not tasted one 
morsel.” ‘*How could that be?” quoth she. “I will tell 
you,” rejoined he, “how it was. Hercolano, his wife, and 
myself, were all set down, when we heard somebody 
sneeze ; this we did not regard for once or twice, but it 
happening three or four, or five times, it naturally surprised 
us ; and Hercolano (who was disturbed that his wife made 
him wait some time at the door, before she let him in) 
said, in a passion, ‘What is the meaning of this? Who 
is it that snéezes in this manner?” And getting up from 


300 THE DECAMERON 


the table, he went towards the stairs, under which was a 
cupboard, made to set things out of the way, and supposing 
that it came from thence, he opened the door, when there 
immediately issued out the greatest stench of sulphur that 
could be, though we perceived something of it before, and 
they had words about it; when she told him, that she had 
been whitening her veils with brimstone, and had set the 
pan, over which she had laid them to receive the steam, in 
that place, and she supposed it continued yet to smoke. 
After he had opened the door, and the smoke was a little 
dispersed, he began to look about to see who it was that 
sneezed, the sulphur provoking to it; and though he con- 
tinued sneezing, yet his breast was so straitened with it, 
that, in a very little time more, he would neither have done 
that, nor anything else. Hercolano, seeing the person at 
last, cried out, ‘So, madam! I now see why you made 
us wait so long at the door, but let me die if I do not pay 
you as you deserve.” The wife, finding that she was dis- 
covered, rose from the table without making any excuse, 
and went I know not whither. Hercolano, not perceiving 
that his wife was fled, called upon the man that sneezed, 
and ordered him to come out; but he, who was indeed 
not able, never offered to stir, notwithstanding all he 
could say. Upon which he drew him out by the foot, and 
was running for a knife to kill him, but I, fearing to be 
drawn into some difficulty myself about it, would not suffer 
him to. put him to death; but defended him, and called 
out for the neighbours to assist, who came and carried him 
away: this spoiled our supper, and I have not had one bit, 
as I told you,” The lady hearing this account, saw thai 
other women were of the same disposition with herself, 
although some proved more unlucky than others; and she 
would gladly have vindicated Hercolano’s wife, but that 
she thought by blaming the faults of other people, to make 
the way more open for her own; she then began :— 

Here is a fine affair truly! this is your virtuous and 
good woman, who seemed so spiritually-minded always that 
I could have confessed myself to her upon occasion. 
What is worse, she is also old: she sets a fine example to 
young people! Cursed be the hour of her birth, and 


FIFTH DAY 301 


herself also; vile woman as she is! to be a disgrace to her 
whole sex; who, mindless of her own honour and her 
plighted faith to her husband, was not ashamed to injure so 
deserving a person, and who had been always so tender of 
her! As I hope for mercy I would have none on such 
prostitutes, they should every soul of them be burnt alive.” 

Now calling to mind her own spark who was concealed, 
she began to fondle her husband, and would have had him 
go to bed; but he, who had more stomach to eat than 
sleep, asked whether she had anything for supper. “ Yes, 
truly,” quoth she, ‘‘we are used to have suppers when 
you are from home. I should fare better were I 
Hercolano’s wife; my dear, now go to bed.” That 
evening it happened that certain labourers of his were 
come with some things out of the country, and had put 
their asses, without giving them any water, into a stable 
adjoining to the little room, when one of them slipped 
his halter, being very thirsty, and went smelling everywhere 
to drink, till he came to the coop under which the young 
man was hidden. Now he was forced to lie flat on his 
belly, and one of his fingers, by strange ill-fortune, was 
uncovered, so that the ass trod upon it, which made him 
cry out most terribly. Pietro wondered to hear that 
clamour, supposing it was somewhere in the house, and 
finding the person continue to make a noise, the ass 
still squeezing close his finger, he called aloud, ‘‘ Who is 
there?” And running to the coop, and turning it up, he 
saw the young man, who, besides the great pain he had 
suffered, was frightened to death lest Pietro should do him 
some mischief. He inquired of him then what business 
he had there: to which he made no reply, but begged he 
would do him no harm. Pietro then said, “Get up, I 
shall not hurt you, only tell me how you came hither, 
and upon what account.” The young man confessed 
everything, whilst Pietro, full as glad that he had founé 
him as his wife was sorry, brought him into the room, 
where she sat in all the terror imaginable, expecting him. 
Seating himself now down before her, he said, ‘‘ Here, you 
that were so outrageous at Hercolano’s wife, saying that she 
should be burnt, and that she was a scandal to you all, 


302 THE DECAMERON 


what do you say now for yourself? Or how could you 
have the assurance to utter such things with regard to 
her, when you knew yourself to be equally guilty? You 
are all alike, and think to cover your own transgressions 
by other people’s mistakes; I wish a fire would come 
from heaven and consume you all together, for a perverse 
generation as you are.” Thelady, now seeing that he went 
no further than a few words, put a good face on the 
matter, and replied, “Yes, I make no doubt but you 
would have us all destroyed; but I shall stick close to you 
yet. You do well to compare me to Hercolano’s wife, who 
is a deformed hypocritical old woman and he one of the 
best of husbands ; whereas, you know it is the reverse with 
regard. to us two: I would sooner go in rags were you 
what you ought to be, than to have everything in: plenty 
and you continue the same person you have always been.” 
Pietro found she had matter enough to serve her the 
whole night, and having never been over fond of her, 
he said, ‘‘I will.take care that you shall have more com- 
fort for the time to come; do but see and get us something 
for supper, for I suppose this young spark is fasting as well 
as. myself.”——“'’Tis very true,” she replied, “‘for we were 
going to sit down when you unluckily came to the door.”— 
*Then go and get something,” he said, “and we will 
have no more disputes.” She, finding her husband was 
satisfied, went instantly about it, and they all three supped 
cheerfully together. 

Dioneus having finished his cubel which was the less 
laughed at by the ladies, not for any want of mirth but on 
account of their modesty; and the queen knowing that 
there was an end of the novels of her day, arose, and 
taking the crown from her own head, placed it upon Eliza, 
saying, ‘Madam, now it is your business to command.” 
Eliza, taking upon herself the honour, gave the same orders 
to the master of the household as had been donein the 
former reigns with regard to what’ was necessary during the 
administration. She then said, ‘We have often heard that 
many people by their ready wit and smart repartees, have 
not only blunted the keen satire of other persons but have 
also warded off some imminent danger. Then, as the 


FIFTH DAY 303 


_ subject is agreeable enough and may be useful, I will that 
to-morrow’s discourse be to that effect: namely, of such 
persons as: have returned some stroke of wit which was 
pointed at them, or else by some quick reply or prudent 
foresight have avoided either danger or derision.” This 
was agreeable to the whole assembly, and the queen now 
gave them leave to depart until the hour for supper: at that 
_ time they were called together, and sat cheerfully down as 
usual, When supper was over, Emilia was ordered to 
begin a dance and Dioneus to sing. But he, attempting to 
sing what the queen disapproved, she said, with a good deal 
of warmth, * Dioneus, I will have none of this ribaldry; 
either sing us a song fit to be heard, or you shall see that I 
know how to resent it.” At these words he put on a 
more serious countenance, and began the following :— 


SONG, 


I, 


Cupid, the charms that crown my fair 
Have made me slave to you and her. 
The lightning of her eyes, 
That darting through my bosom flies, 
Doth still your sov’reign power declare: 
At your control 
Each grace binds fast my vanquish’d soul. 


Ti. 


Devoted to your throne 
From henceforth I myself confess, 
Nor can I guess 
If my desires to her be known ; 
Who claims each wish, each thought so fag, 
That all my peace depends on her. 


iil. 


Then haste, kind godhead, and inspire 
A portion of your sacred fire; 
To make her feel 
_ That self-consuming zeal, 
The cause of my decay, 
That wastes my very heart away. 


304 THE DECAMERON 


When Dioneus had made an end, the queen called for 
several other songs: his, nevertheless, was highly com- 
mended ; afterwards great part of the evening being spent, 
and the heat of the day sufficiently damped by the breezes 
of the night, she ordered them all to go and repose them- 
selves till the following day. 


THE SIXTH DAY 


THE moon had now lost her brightness in the midst of the 
heavens, and the world become illuminated by the appear- 
ance of the new day, when the queen arose with all her 
company, and they walked forth upon the dewy grass to 
some distance from that little eminence, holding various 
arguments by the way concerning their late novels, and 
making themselves merry with reciting some of the most 
entertaining over again: till at last, the heat growing 
excessive, as the sun was mounted toa greater height, they 
turned back, and came to the palace; where the tables 
being set forth against their return, and every part of the 
house bedecked with sweet-smelling flowers, they sat down 
to dinner. When that was over, and after singing a few 
songs, some went asleep and others played at chess; 
whilst Dioneus and Lauretta sang the song of Tréilus and 
Cressida. At the usual hour they met by the fountain’s 
side, when the queen laid her first commands upon 
Philomena, who readily began as follows :-— 


NOVEL I 


A certain knight offers a lady to carry her behind him, and to tell her a 
pleasant story by the way ; but doing it with an ill grace, she chose 
rather to walk on foot, 


LADIES, as stars are the ornaments of heaven, flowers of 
the spring, and as the hills are most beautiful when planted 
with trees, so a smart and elegant turn of expression is the 


embellishment of discourse ; and the shorter the better, 
308 


306 THE DECAMERON 


especially in women. But true it is, whether it be owing 
to our unhappy dispositions or some particular enmity which 
_ the stars bear to our sex, there is hardly any among us that 
knows when it is proper to speak, or to understand what is 
said as we ought, which is a great disgrace tous all. But 
as Pampinea has before spoken to this point more largely, 
I shall say nothing further; but only show, by the genteel 
manner of a lady’s silencing a knight, the great beauty of a 
word or two spoken in due time and place. 

You may all of you have heard that there lived in our 
city, not a great while ago, a lady of much worth and wit, 
whose good qualities deserve not that her name should be 
concealed ;' she was called then Madam Oretta, and was 
the wife of Signor Geri Spina; who being by chance in the 
country, as we are now, and going to take a walk along 
with some ladies and knights, who had dined at her house 
the day before, from one place to another; and their 
journey seeming a little tedious, as they were on foot, one 
of the knights, who happened to be on horseback, said 
that if she pleased he would carry her part of the way, and 
entertain her with one of the best stories in the world. 
“ Sir,” she replied, “I should ‘be extremely obliged to you 
for it.” The knight, who told a story with as ill a grace as 
he wore a sword, began his tale, which was really a good 
one; but by frequent repetitions, and beginning over again 
to say it better, by mistaking also one name for another 
and relating everything in the worst manner, he mangled it 
to that degree that he made the lady quite sick: and being 
able to bear it no longer, seeing him set fast, nor likely 
soon to extricate himself, she said pleasantly to him, “Sir, 
your horse has a very uneasy trot, I beg you would set me 
down.” The knight who took a hint more readily than he 
told a story, made a laugh of it, and turned his discourse 
to something else; leaving what. he had .sorrily begun and 
worse conducted without offering to end it. 


SIXTH DAY 307 


NOVEL II 


Cisti the baker, by a smart reply, makes Signor Geri Spina sensible of 
an unreasonable request, 


THE whole company was pleased with what Oretta, had 
said; when the queen pointed next to Pampinea, who 
spoke thus :—: 

It is beyond my capacity to determine whether nature 
be more in fault, when she joins a generous soul to a 
homely person ; or fortune in dooming a body, graced with 
a noble spirit, to a mean condition of life; as was the case 
of a citizen of ours, named Cisti, as well as of many others. 
For this man, though he had truly a great spirit, yet fortune 
made him no better than a baker. For my part, I should 
quarrel both with nature and fortune did I not know nature 
to be absolutely wise, and that fortune hath a thousand 
eyes, although fools have described her as blind. I sup- 
pose, therefore, that both, being truly wise and judicious, 
act as we ourselves often do; who, uncertain of what may 
happen, for our convenience ’ often bury our most valuable 
treasure in the meanest places of our houses, as the least 
liable to suspicion; from whence we can fetch them in 
time of need, and where they have continued more secure 
than they would have been in the best chamber of the 
house. So these two ministers of the world do many times 
hide their most precious blessings under the cover of some 
mean employ, to the end that, drawing them from thence 
when need requires, they may appear with greater lustre ; 
which was plainly showed, although in a small matter, by 
our baker Cisti, to the apprehension of Signor Geri Spina, 
whom the story of Madam Oretta, who was his wife, brings 
fresh into my mind; as I shall relate in a very short novel. 
You must know then that Pope Boniface, with whom this 
same Signor Geri was in great esteem, having an occasion 
to send ambassadors to Florence about some particular 
business, who ‘being entertained at this Geri Spina’s house, 
and employed with him in the said pope’s negotiation, it 
happened, whatever was the reason, that they passed on 


308 THE DECAMERON 


foot every morning by the church of St. Maria Ughi where 
Cisti the baker dwelt, and followed his trade: who, though 
fortune had given him but a mean employ, yet in this 
respect she had been kind to him—that he had grown very 
rich in it; and, without having any desire to leave it fora 
better, lived very generously among his neighbours, having 
everything in plenty, the best wine especially, both red and 
white, that the country could afford. Now, he seeing them 
walk daily by his door, and supposing, as the season was 
sultry, that it would be esteemed a kindness to let them 
drink some of his fine white wine, but regarding at the 
same time the disparity of their different stations, he would 
not presume to invite them; but thought of a way whereby 
Signor Geri might be induced of his own accord to taste it. 
Having a white frock on, therefore, with an apron before 
him, which bespoke him rather a miller than a baker, every 
morning about the time that he supposed they should come 
that way, would he order a bucket full of fair water to be 
brought, and a decanter of wine, with a couple of beakers 
as bright as crystal, to be set before him; when, seating 
himself down at his door, and clearing first his mouth and 
throat, he would take a draught or two just as they were 
going past, with a gust sufficient to cause an appetite almost 
in a man that was dead. 

Signor Geri, observing this once or twice, said, the third 
time, ‘‘ What say you? Is your wine good, Master Cisti?” 
He, starting up, replied, “ Yes, sir; but how can I convince 
you unless you taste?” Signor Geri, whom either the heat 
of the weather or his. extraordinary fatigue, or perhaps the 
relish with which he saw the other drink, had rendered 
thirsty, turned with a smile upon the ambassadors, and 
said, ‘‘Gentlemen, we may as well drink of this honest 
man’s wine, perhaps it is such that we shall not need to 
repent.” Accordingly they went together to Cisti, who, 
ordering seats to be brought out of his bakehouse, prayed 
them to sit down, saying to their servants, who offered to 
wash the glasses, ‘‘ Friends, go get you gone; leave this to 
me. Iam no worse a skinker than a baker, and stay you 
ever so long you shall not taste a drop.” Washing then 
four neat glasses, and ordering a fresh decanter to be 


SIXTH 309 


brought, he ‘iled round to S, ‘xerl and the ambas- 
sadors, bo thought it the best wine they had tasted for a 
long time; anc having highly commended it, they called to 
drink with him most mornings during their stay. At length 
having dispatched their business, and being about to depart, 
Signor Geri made an entertainment for them, to which he 
invited a great part of the most eminent citizens, and Cisti 
amongst the rest, who could by no means be persuaded to 
go. Signor Geri then ordered one of his servants to fetch 
a flask of Cisti’s wine, and to fill half a glass round to all 
the company at the first table. The servant (offended, as 
we may suppose, that he had never been able to get a taste 
of it) took a very large bottle; which as soon as Cisti saw, 
he said, ‘‘ Friend, Signor Geri never sent thee to me.” 
Which the servant affirming over and over, and yet meeting 
with no other reply, he returned to his master, and told 
him. Signor Geri then said, ‘‘Go back, and tell him that 
I did send thee, and if he makes the like answer again, ask 
him whither he thinks I should send thee.” The servant 
went again, and said, ‘‘ Most assuredly Signor Geri, my 
master, has sent me to you.” Cisti made answer, ‘I tell 
thee, friend, it is impossible.”——‘‘ Then,” quoth the servant, 
‘‘whither do you think he sent me?” He replied, “To 
the river Arno;” which when the fellow reported to Signor 
Geri, his eyes were immediately opened, and he said, 
‘* Let me see what bottle it was which you carried to him.” 
On seeing it,,he adged, ‘“ Now, trust me, Cisti spoke truth.” 
Reprimanding hing then severely, he ordered him to take a 
more sizable vessel; which as soon as Cisti saw, he said, 
** Why now I am certain that he sent thee to me;” and 
filled it very readily for him. That day also he had a cask 
filled with the same wine, which he sent to Signor Geri’s 
house, and going himself after it, he thus addressed him :— 
Sir, I would not have you think that I was any way 
startled at the sight of the great bottle this morning; but 
as I imagined you had forgotten what I had endeavoured 
to intimate to you for several days past with my little 
decanters, namely, that mine is no wine for servants, so I 
only did it to remind you again of the same thing. But 
meaning to be steward no longer, I have now brought my 


310 THE DECAMERON 


_ whole store; dispose of it as you please.” Signor Geri was 


extremely thankful for his most valuable present, and ever 


afterwards esteemed him as his most intimate friend. 


NOVEL III 


- Madam Nonna de’ Pulei silences the Bishop of Florence, by a smart 


reply to an unseemly piece of ratllery. 


_ PAMPINEA had now made an end, Cisti’s answer and gene- 


rosity being highly commended, when the queen gave her 


_ orders to Lauretta, who began as follows :— 


Most gracious ladies; Pampinea, the other day, and 


_ Philomena now, have both justly touched upon our little 


merit, as well as the beauty of repartees: therefore, as it is 


_aeedless to say anything further upon that head, I shall 


only remind you that your words should be such as only 
to nip or touch the hearer, like the sheep’s nibbling on the 
grass, and not as the dog bites; for in that case it is n¢ 
longer wit, but foul scurrility. This was excellently well set 
forth, both in what was said by Oretta, and in the reply of 
Cisti. It is true, however, that if it be spoken by way of 
answer, and bites a little too keenly; yet, if the person who 


answers in that manner were stung first, he is the less to 


blame. Therefore, you should be cautious both how, when, 


and with whom you jest; which not bei®e enaugh attended 
to by a certain prelate of ours, he ret With @ sharper bite 


_ than he had given, as I shall show — in a ‘very short 


novel. 
When Signor Antonio d’Orso, a most wise and worthy 


_pérson, was bishop of Florence,'a certain gentleman of 
Catalonia, marshal to King Robert, happened to come 


thither; who, having a good person, and being a great 
admirer of the fair sex, took a particular liking to a lady of 
that city, who was niece to the bishop’s brother; and, 


understanding that her husband, though of a good family, 
_was most abominably sordid and covetous, he agreed to 
_ give him five hundred florins of gold to let him pass one 


night with her. Accordingiy, he got so many pieces of 


SIXTH DAY 311 


silver gilt, which he gave to himyand then obtained his 
desire contrary to her will and knowledge. This being dis- 
covered soon afterwards, the wretch became the common 
jest and scorn of mankind; but the bishop, like a wise 
man, seemed to know nothing of the matter. And, being 
often in company with the marshal, it happened on St, 
_ John’s day, that, as they were riding side by side through 
the city, viewing the ladies all the way, that the bishop cast 
his eye upon one, named Nonna de’ Pulci, then newly 
married, and who is since dead of the plague, cousin also 
to Alesso Rinucci, whom you all knew: this lady, besides 
her great beauty, was endowed with a generous spirit, and 
spoke pertinently and well. Showing her, therefore, to the 
marshal, as soon as they came nearer to her, he laid his 
hand upon the marshal’s shoulder, and. said, ‘‘ Madam, 
what do you think of this gentleman? Could he make a 
conquest over you or not?” This seemed to touch her 
- honour, or at least she thought it might give some persons 
present a worse opinion of her. Without ever thinking, 
then, how to clear herself of such a charge, but resolving 
to return like for like, she replied, ‘‘ Perhaps he might, my 
lord; but then I should like to be paid with good money.” 
This touched them both to the quick ; the one as doing a 
very dishonourable thing to the bishop’s relation ; the other 
as receiving in his own person the shame belonging to his 
brother. And they rode away, without so much as look- 
ing at one or exchanging a word together all 
the day after tly, therefore, did this lady bite 
the biter. 






NOVEL IV 


Chichibio, cook to Currado Gianfiliazzi, by a sudden reply, which he 
made to his master, turns his wrath into laughter, and so escapes 
the punishment with which he had threatened him, 


LauRETTA being silent, Neiphile was ordered to follow, 
which she did in this manner :— » 
Though ready wit and invention furnish people with 
rds proper to their different occasions, yet sometimes 


ab 


— 


312 THE DECAMERON 


does fortune, an assistant to the timorous, tip the tongue 
with a sudden, and yet'a more pertinen’ rep y than the 
most mature deliberation could ever have sucvested, as I 


shall now briefly relate to you. Currado_Guanfiliazzi, as 
most of you have both known and seen, was always 
esteemed a gallant and worthy citizen, delighting much 
in hounds and hawks, to omit his other excellences, as 
no way relating to our present purpose. Now, he having 
taken a crane one day with his hawk, and finding it to 
be young. and fat, sent it home to his cook, who was a 
Venetian, and called Chichibio, with orders to prepare it 
for supper. The cook, a poor simple fellow, trussed and 
-spitted it, and when it was nearly roasted, and began to | 
smell pretty well, it chanced that a woman in the neighbour- 
hood called Brunetta, with whom he was much enamoured, 
came into the kitchen, and being taken with the high 
savour, earnestly begged of him to give hera leg. He re- 
plied very merrily, singing all the time, “ Madam Brunetta, 
you shall have no leg from me.” Upon this she was a 
good deal nettled, and said, ‘As I hope to live, if you do 
not give it me, you need never expect any favour more 
from me.” The dispute, at length, was carried to a great 
height between them; when, to make her easy, he was 
forced to give her one of the legs. Accordingly the crane 
_was served up at supper with only one leg; Currado havy- 
ing a friend along with him. Currado wondered at this, 
_and sending for the fellow, he deman was become * 
of the other leg. He very foolis and without 
the least thought, ‘‘Sir, cranes ha e leg.” Cur- 
rado, in great wrath, said, ‘‘ What t does the man 
talk of? Only one leg! \ Thou ra dost thou think I 
never saw a crane before?” Chichibio still persisted in his 
denial, saying, “‘ Believe me, sir, it is as I say, and*I will 
convince you of it whenever you please, by such fowls as 
are living.” Currado was willing to haye no more words, 
out of regard to his friend; only he added, “As thou 
undertakest to show mea thing which I never saw or 
heard of before, I am content to make proof thereof to- 
‘morrow morning ; but I vow and protest, if I find it other- 
wise, I will make thee remember_it_the longest day thou 


f 


\ 














\| 


SIXTH DAY Hous! | 


hast tolive.” Thus there was an end for that night, and 
the next morning Currado, whose»passion would scarcely 
suffer him to get any rest, arose betimes, and ordered his 
horses to be brought out, taking Chichibio along with him 
towards a river where he used early in the morning to see 
plenty of cranes ; and he said, “‘ We shall soon see whether 
you spoke truth or not last night.” Chichibio, finding his 
_ master’s wrath not at all abated, and that he was now to 
make good what he had asserted, nor yet knowing how to 
do it, rode on first with all the fear imaginable: gladly 
would he have made his escape, but he saw no possible 
means; whilst he was continually looking about him, ex- 
_ pecting everything that appeared to be a crane with two 
feet. But being come near to the river, he chanced to see, 
before anybody else, a number of cranes, each standing 
upon one leg, as they use to do when they are sleeping ; 
whereupon, showing them quickly to his master, he said, 
** Now, sir, you yourself may see that I spoke nothing but 
- truth, when I said that cranes have only one leg: look at 
those there if you please.” Currado, beholding the cranes, 
replied, ‘Yes, sirrah! but stay a while, and I will show 
thee that they have two.” Then riding something nearer 
to them, he cried out, ‘‘Shough! shough!” which made 
them set down the other foot, and after taking a step or 
two, they all flew away. When Currado, turning to him, 
said, ‘‘ Well, thou lying knave, art thou now convinced 
that they have legs?” Chichibio, quite at his wits’ 
end, and kno cely what he said himself, suddenly 
made answer, but you did not shout out-to that 
crane last ni ave done to these ; had you called 
to it in the sa ner, it would have put down the 
other leg, as these h@# now done.” This pleased Currad¢ 
so much that, turning all wrath into mirth and laughter, 
he said, * Chichibio, thou sayest right, I should have 
done so indeed.” By this sudden and comical answer 
Chichibio escaped a sound drubbing, and made peace 
with his master. 












| judges, he may be deservedly called 


THE DECAMERON 


as 
NOVEL V 


_ Forese da Rabatta and Giotto the painter, coming from Mugello, laugh 
af at the meanness of each other's appearance, 





’ THE ladies were much diverted with Chichibio’s aati, 
when Pamphilus, by the queen’s order, delivered sob 
to this effect :— 

As it often happens that fortune hides, under the meanest 
trades in life, the greatest virtues, which has ‘been proved 
by Pampinea, so are the greatest geniuses found frequently 
lodged by nature in the most deformed and misshapen 
_ bodies, which was verified in two of our own Citizens, as 
Fi am now going to relate. For the one, who was called 
- Forese da Rabatta, being a little deformed mortal, with a 


_ fiat Dutch face, worse than any of the family of the Baronci, 


yet was he esteemed by most men a repository of the civil 
law 5 and the other, whose name was :Giotto, had such a 


_ prodigious fancy, that there was nothing in nature, the 


parent of all things, but he could imitate it with his pencil 
‘so well, and draw it so like, as to deceive our very senses, 
imagining that to be the very thing itself which was only 
his painting: therefore, having brought that art again to 
light, which had lain buried for many ages, under the errors 
‘of such as aimed more to captivate the eyes of the ignorant, 
_ than to please the understandings of e who were really 
he lights and 
master of his 
er suffer him- 








glories of our city, and the rathe 
art, notwithstanding his modesty 
self to be so esteemed: which ho ough rejected by 
‘him, displayed itself in him with greater lustre, as it 
was so eagerly usurped by others less knowing than him- 
self, and by many also who had all their knowledge from 
‘him. But though his excellence in his profession was so 
wonderful, yet as to his person and aspect he had no way 
the advantage of Signor Forese. To come then to my 
story: These two worthies had each his country seat at 
‘Mugello, and Forese being gone thither in the vacation 
time, and riding upon an unsightly steed, chanced to meet 





SIXTH DAY 315 


there with Giotto, who was no better equipped than him- 
self, when they returned together to Florence. Travelling 
slowly along, as they were able to go no faster, they were 
overtaken by a great shower of rain, and forced to take 
shelter in a poor man’s house, who was well known to 
them both ; and, as there was no appearance of the weather 
clearing up, and each being desirous of getting home that 


night, they borrowed’ two old rusty cloaks and two rusty 


hats, and they proceeded on their journey. After they had 
gotten a good part of their way, thoroughly wet, and covered 
with dirt and mire, which their two shuffling steeds had 
thrown upon them, and which by no means improved their 


looks, it bégan to clear up at last, and they, who had 


hitherto said but little to each other, now turned to dis- 
course together; whilst Forese, riding along and listening 


to’ Giotto, who was excellent at telling a story, began at 


last to view him attentively from head to foot, and seeing 


_ him in that wretched dirty pickle, without having any 


regard to himself, he fell a laughing, and said, ‘*Do you 


suppose, Giotto, if a stranger were to meet with you now, 
who had never seen you before, that he would imagine 
you to be the best painter in the world, as you really are?” 
Giotto readily replied, ‘‘ Yes, sir, I believe he might think 
so, if, looking at you at the same time, he would ever 
conclude that you had learned your A, B, C.” At this 
Forese was sensible of his mistake, finding himself well 
paid in his own. coin. 


we 
AC 5 Se 2 
P é iy 


NOVEL vi 


Michael Scalsa proves to certain young gentlemen, that the family of 
the Baronct is the most honourable of any in the world, and wins a 


supper by i. 


Tue ladies continued laughing at Giotto’s smart reply, 
when the queen commanded Flammetta to follow, which 
she did to this purpose :— 

The Baronci being mentioned by Pamphilus, though 
perhaps you may not know them so well as himself, puts 


316 THE DECAMERON 


me in mind of a story, in which their great nobility is 
plainly exhibited, without deviating from our present 
subject, and therefore I choose to relate it. There lived 
not long since in our city, a young gentleman called 
Michael Scalza, who was one of the most agreeable and 
pleasant companions in the world; for which reason his 
company was much courted by all the young people of 
Florence, whenever they could be favoured with it. Now 
he was one day with some friends at Mount Ughi, when 
the question happened to be started, which was the noblest 
and most ancient family in Florence? Accordingly one 
named the Uberti, another the Lamberti, some prefer- 
ring one, and some another, according to their different 
humours and interests; upon which Scalza smiled and 
said, “You are all mistaken; the most noble, as well as 
the most ancient family, I do not say in Florence only, 
but in the whole world, is that of the Baronci; in this all 
philosophers are agreed, and every one that knows them 
as well as myself. And, lest you should think that I speak 
it of some other family of that name, I tell you that I mean 
the Baronci, our neighbours, that live by great St. Maria.” 
When the young gentlemen, who expected he would have 
mentioned some other, heard this family named, they made 
the greatest jest of it that could be, and said, ‘‘ You impose 
anything in the world upon us, as if nobody knew the 
Baronci but yourself.” ‘ Indeed,” quoth he, ‘I do not, I 
speak nothing but what is truth, and if there is any one 
among you that dares lay a wager of 4 MW&pper for six of 
his friends upon that head, I will stand td it ; nay, more 
than that, I will be set down by the judgment of any person 
whom you shall nominate.” Heretipon a young spark 
called Neri Vannini, said, ““I am your man.” It was also 
agreed that one Piero, a Florentine, in whose house they 
were, should be judge. Accordingly the case was stated to 
him, while the whole company bore hard upon Scaiza, 
making themselves very merry with his expected treat. 
Piero, then, who was a good sensible man, having heard 
Neri’s story, turned to Scalza and said, “‘ Well, how do you 
make good your assertion?” Scalza replied, ‘I prove it 
by such arguments, that not yourself only, but even my 


SIXTH DAY 317 


-amtagonist shall confess to be just. You know that the 
more ancient any family is, the more noble it is deemed ; 
this was agreed among us at the beginning. I have then 
only to show, in order to gain my question, that the 
Baronci: family is the most ancient of all others. You 
must understand, therefore, that they were formed when 
‘nature was in her infancy, and before she was perfect at her 
-work, and that the rest of mankind were all created after- 
‘wards. To convince you of this, do but examine the 
figures of one and the other, you will find art and propor- 
tion in the last, whereas the first are rough drawn and 
‘imperfect; among them you will see one with a long 
jnarrow face, another with a prodigious broad one; one 
that is flat-nosed, another with a nose half an ell long; 
this has a long hooked chin, that one eye bigger and 
set lower down than the other. In a word, their faces 
resemble, for all the world, what children make when they 
first learn to draw. Nature then, you will allow, was in its 
first and earliest state when they were created, consequently 
‘they are the most ancient of all others, and therefore the 
‘most noble.” Both Piero, who was to determine, and 
Neri, who had wagered the treat, and the whole company 
likewise, on hearing this pleasant argument, agreed that 
Scalza was in the right, and that the Baronci were the 
noblest and most ancient people in the whole world. Well 
therefore was it observed by Pamphilus, in describing the 
ugliness and deformity of Signor Forese, that, if possible, he 
had a worse person than any of the Baronci. 


NOVEL VII 


Madam Philippa, being surprised with her gallant by her husband, is 
accused and tried ‘for tt; but saves herself by her quick reply ; and 
has the laws moderated for the future. 


_Scauza’s argument to prove the nobility of the Baronci 
‘made them all very merry, when the queen turned to 
. Philostratus, who began in this manner :— 

It is a good thing, most worthy ladies, to be able to 





318 THE DECAMERON 


speak well, and to the purpose; but I hold it best of all 
to know how to do it when need requires; as was the 
case of a lady of whom I am going to treat, who escaped 
an ignominious death by this means, as you shall hear. In 
the territories of the town of Prato, there was formerly 
a most severe law, which, without any distinction, con- 
demned ‘all such women as were detected by their 
husbands of adultery to be burnt. Whilst this law was 
in force, it chanced that a beautiful young lady, named 
Philippa, was surprised by her husband with her gallant, a 
young gentleman of the same city, in her own chamber. 
Rinaldo de’ Pugliesi, for that was the husband’s name, 
was so provoked at this, that he could’scarcely refrain from 
putting them both to death, and forbore it only out of. 
regard to his own life; but yet he resolved that the law 
should effect what did not so properly belong to himself— 
the death of his wife. Therefore, having procured sufficient 
testimony to prove the fact, he went and had her summoned 
before the court. The lady, who was of an undaunted 
spirit, resolved to make her appearance, contrary to the 
judgment of her friends, choosing to die by a resolute 
confession of the truth, rather than to live basely in exile 
by making her escape; or, by denying it, to show herself 
unworthy of that lover with whom she had‘this intrigue. 
Being brought then before the lord-provost, attended by a 
great number of friends, and encouraged -all the way to 
deny it, she demanded of him, with a steady countenance, 
what he had to say to her. The provost, seeing her genteel 
deportment and greatness of spirit, began to pity her, 
fearing lest she should confess something or other which 
would force him for the sake of his honour to condemn her, 
whilst she ceased not all the time to inquire the reason of 
her being brought thither. When he said to her, *“‘ Madam, 
here is Rinaldo, your husband, who affirms that he has 
taken you in adultery, and insists that I pronounce sentence 
of death upon you, according to the law in that case; but 
this I cannot do unless you yourself confess it, therefore 
take care what answers you make, and tell me if this 
accusation of his be true.” The lady, without showing the 
least concern, replied, “ My lord, it is true; I will never 


SIXTH DAY 319 


deny it; but you must know, at the same time, that 
laws ought to be universal, and made with the consent of 
those persons whom they concern. Now in this law of 
yours it was quite otherwise ; for only we poor women are 
bound by it, and yet not one of us ever consented to, or 
were even consulted about, the making of it. I call it then 
a most iniquitous law; and if you are disposed to take away 
my life for the breach of it, I have no way to do myself 
justice, but by protesting in the face of this court, and 
before the whole world, against the partiality of your pro- 
ceedings.” All the principal people of the city were present 
to hear this process, who, hearing her plead her own cause 
in that manner, cried out, ‘‘ That there was some reason in 
what she said;” and before they broke up, the law, by the 
interposition of the lord-provost, was moderated so far as to 
include only such women who wronged their husbands for 
the sake of money. On this Rinaldo departed from the 
court, confused at his disappointment, whilst she, saved: as 
it were out of the fire, returned victorious to her own house. 


NOVEL VIII 


Fresco advises his niece that if she could not endure to look at any dis- 
agreeable people, she should never behold herself. 


PHILOSTRATUS'S novel had put the ladies into some 
confusion, as appeared by their blushes, when the queen 
turned immediately to Emilia, and desired her to begin; 
who, starting up as if she had been raised out of her sleep, 
spoke to this effect :— 

I have been so long lost in thought that I shall now 
obey the queen by relating a much shorter novel than I 
should have done, probably, had I more time to recollect 
myself. This will be concerning the foolish affectation of a 
certain young lady, which was very wittily reproved by her 
uncle, if she had but sense enough to have taken it. An 
honest man, named Fresco da Celatico, had a niece called 
out of fondness Cesca, #.e. for Francesca; who, though her 
person was not amiss (she was no angel neither!) yet she 


320 THE DECAMERON 


thought so highly of herself that she was perpetually finding 
fault both with men, women, and, in short, everything that 
she saw, without having’ the least regard to herself all the 
time; for by that means she became such a disagreeable, 
fretful, and tiresome creature, that nothing was ever like 
her, and so proud withal that had she been of the blood 
royal of France she could not have been more so. And if 
she walked along the street at any time, she did nothing but 
toss up her nose all the way, as if every one that she either 
saw or met was offensive to her. To omit the rest of her 
troublesome ill-conditioned ways, it chanced one day that 
she came home pouting extremely with pride and affecta- 
tion, and sitting down by him, he said to her, ‘‘Cesca, as 
this is a holiday, what is the reason you come home so . 
soon?” When she, fit to die away with her airs, replied, 
‘“‘T am returned so early because I could not have believed 
there had been such a number of frightful people, both 
men and women, in the country, as I have met with 
to-day ; there was not one that I could like, nor can any 
woman have the aversion to disagreeable people that I 
have ; it is to avoid seeing them, therefore, that I am come 
so soon. Fresco, then, who could no longer brook her 
inordinate affectation, replied roughly to her, “ Niece, if 
disagreeable persons displease you so much, and you are 
willing to be at ease, be sure you never look at yourself.” 
She, however, as empty as a pithless cane, though she 
thought herself as wise as Solomon, understood her 
uncle’s meaning no more than a goose, but said she 
would look at herself as well as other people. Thus she 
remained in her ignorance, and, for what I know, still 
continues in the same state. 


NOVEL IX 


Guido Cavalcanti genteelly reprimands the folly of some Florentine 
gentlemen, who came unawares upon him, 


THE queen, perceiving that Emilia had done her Hesibli 
and that only herself remained, excepting him whose 
privilege it was to speak iast, began as follows:—Though 


SIXTH DAY } 321 


you have robbed me of two of my novels, one of which 
I designed should have served me to-day, yet have I one 
left behind still, which contains something in “the con- 
clusion as pertinent, perhaps, as anything that hath yet 
been’ spoken. — Know, then, that formerly many good 
customs prevailed in our city, none of which are now re- 
maining, thanks be to avarice, the attendant of our grow- 
ing wealth, which has long discarded them. This, amongst 
others, was one—that, in divers parts of the town, the best 
families in the neighbourhood would meet together and 
compose a society, consisting of a certain number of per- 
sons, taking care always to admit only such as were able to 
bear the expense of it. Every one entertained in his turn, 
at which time they would show honour to divers gentle- 
men and ‘strangers upon their arrival in our city, and to 
many of the most worthy citizens, by inviting them to 
those assemblies: once a year also, at least, they would 
be dressed all alike, and they often rode in procession 
through the city, when they performed their tilts and 
other martial exercises, especially on the great festival days, 
or when the news of some great victory had reached the 
city. Amongst these societies of gentlemen there was one 
of which Signor Betto Brunelleschi was the principal, who 
was desirous always of procuring Guido Cavalcanti to be 
one of their body, and not without reason ; for, besides his 
being one of the best logicians in the world, as well as 
natural philosopher, for which they had no great regard, 
he was a most polite good-natured man, as well as an 
excellent companion, and nobody knew what belonged to 
a gentleman better than himself: besides this, he was very 
rich, and ready always to reward merit wherever he found 
it. But Signor Betto was never able to draw him into 
their assembly, which they all attributed to his speculative 
way of life; and because he was said to hold some of the 
Epicurean doctrines, the vulgar used to report that all this 
study of his was only to learn whether there was a God or 
not. One day he was passing from St. Michael’s Church 
along by the Ademari to St. John’s, which was his usual 
walk, and the large marble tombs, such as are now at St. 
Reparata’s, were then about the church: and he chanced 
L 


322 THE DECAMERON 


to be amongst them, the church door being shut, when 
Betto and his company came riding through the square ; 
who, getting sight of him, spurred their horses and came 
up to him before he perceived them ; whilst one of them 
said, ‘Guido, thou refusest to be of our society: but when 
thou hast found out that there is no God, what good will it 
have done thee?” He, seeing himself surrounded, imme- 
diately replied, ‘‘Gentlemen, you may use me as you 
please in your own territories ;” and, laying his hand upon 
one of the arches, he leaped nimbly over it and so made 
his escape. They looked like people confounded at each 
other, saying that what he had spoken was without any 
meaning ; for that they had no more to do there than any 
other persons, nor Guido less than themselves. Signor 
Betto then turned to them and said, “It is yourselves, 
gentlemen, that are void of understanding ; for he has very 
worthily, and in few words, said the severest thing in the 
world to us, whether you understood it or not: consider, 
then, these arches are the abodes of the dead, and which 
he calls our territories, to show us that we, and all other 
people as ignorant and unlearned as ourselves, are, com- 
pared to him and other men of letters, worse than dead 
men; and, therefore, so long as we are here we may be 
said to be upon our own dunghills.” They now all under- 
stood what Guido meant to say, and were a good deal 
ashamed, and from that time said nothing more ever to 
provoke him; esteeming Signor Betto always as a very 
subtle and sensible man, 


NOVEL X 


Friar Onion promises some country people to show them a feather from 
the wing of the angel Gabriel; instead of which he finds only some 
coals, which he tells them are the same that roasted St, Laurence. 


AFTER they had told all their different stories, and Dioneus 
perceived that only himself was left to- speak, without 
waiting for any regular command, he enjoined silence 


| SIXTH DAY 323 


to such as were commending Guido’s deep reply, and 
thus began :— 
Though I boast it, ladies, as my privilege to relate what 


ee 


pleases me most, yet I intend not to-day to depart from ' 


the subject which you have all spoken so well upon; but, 
following your footsteps, I shall show with what a sudden 
shift a certain friar, of the order of St. Anthony, most 
_artfully avoided the disgrace and confusion which two arch 
young fellows had prepared for him: and if, to make my 
story more complete, I spin it out a little in length, I hope 
it will not be disagreeable, as the sun is yet in the midst of 
heaven. 

Certaldo, as you have all heard, is a village in the vale 


of Elsa, dependent on the state of F lorence ; which, though | 


small, was inhabited by many gentlemen and people of 
substance. Thither a certain friar, of the order of St. 
Anthony, used to go once a year, as he found pretty good 
‘pickings, to peataive athe eoatibutidns of many simple 
people, and met with great encouragement always, perhaps 
not through any devotion so much as his name; for that 
country was famous for the best onions in all Tuscany. 
Now this friar had a little low person, was red-haired, and 
of a merry countenance, as artful a knave too as any in the 
world: add to this, that, though he was no scholar, yet was 
he so prompt and voluble of tongue, that such as knew him 
not would not only have considered him as some great 
orator, but have compared him even to Tully or Quinctilian. 
He was also a common gossip-acquaintance to the whole 
neighbourhood. Coming thither, therefore, in the month 
of August, according to custom, one Sunday morning, when 
all the honest people were met together in the church to 
hear mass, as soon as he saw a fit opportunity, he stepped 
forward and said :— 

“Gentlemen and ladies, you know it has been a com- 
mendable custom with you to send every year to the poor 
brethren of our Lord Baron St. Anthony, both of your corn 
and other provisions, some more, and some less, according 
to your several abilities and devotions, to the end that our 
blessed St. Anthony should be more careful of your oxen, 
sheep, asses, swine, and other cattle. Moreover, you are 


~ 


324 THE DECAMERON 


accustomed to pay, such especially as have their names 
registered in our fraternity, a small acknowledgment which 
pas annually receive, and for which purpose I am now sent 
by my superior, namely, our lord abbot, to collect it. 
Therefore, with the blessing of God, after nine o’clock, 
as soon as you shall hear the bells ring, you may all come 
to the church door, when I shall preach a sermon as usual, 
and you shall all kiss the cross: and, besides this, as I 
know you all to be devoted to our Lord St. Anthony, I 
intend, as a special favour, to show you one of the feathers 
of the angel Gabriel, which he dropped, at the annuncia- 
tion, in the Virgin’s Chamber;” and, having made this 
speech, he returned to Mass. Whilst he was haranguing 
supon this subject, there were two arch fellows in the 
church, one named Giovanni del Bragoniera, and the other 
Biagio Pizzini, who, after they had laughed together at the 
father’s relics, although they were his friends and acquaint- 
ance, resolved to play him a trick with regard to this 
feather: and, understanding that he was to dine that day with 
a friend, as soon as they thought he might be set down at 
table, they went to the inn where he lodged; when Biagio” 
was to keep his man in talk, whilst Giovanni ransacked 
his wallet to steal this feather, that they might see what he 
would then say to the people. Now the friar had a lad 
with so many different nicknames and qualities that the 
most fertile imagination was hardly able to describe them. 
Whilst Father Onion used frequently to jest and say, ‘My 
rascal has in him nine qualities, if any one of which be- 
longed either to Solomon, Aristotle, or Seneca, it would baffle 
_ and confound all their philosophy, and all their virtue. You 
may suppose then what sort of creature he must be, that has 
nine such, without either philosophy or virtue to counter- 
balance.” Being asked what those nine qualities were, 
and having put them into a kind of rhyme, he answered, 


“ Forgetfulness, lying, and lewdness 3 
Filching, facing, and nastiness ; 
Sloth, gracelessness, and extravagance. 


‘Besides these, he has also many others, and one in 
particular I cannot help laughing at, which is, that he is for 


SIXTH DAY 325 


taking a w'e wherever he goes: and having a great black 
greasy beard. le is persuaded that all women must fall in 
love wiih him; or, should they take no notice of him, he 
will »© sure to run after them. But yet he is a notable 
fellow ‘© me ‘m one respect, that if anybody has a secret 


to communicate, ne will come in for his share of it; and 
should any one ask me a question, he is so fearful that I 
should not know how to make an answer, that he will be sure 
to say, Yes, or No, before me, just as he thinks most proper.” 
But to return to our story. This fellow, Friar Onion left at 
the inn, with a particular charge to see that nobody meddled 
with anything belonging to him, especially his wallet, because 
the holy relics were contained therein. But the man, whose 
inclinations stood more for the kitchen, as soon as his master 
was gone, went down thither, where he found a fat, dirty, 
ill-favoured kitchen wench; when falling into discourse to- 
gether, he sat down by the fireside, though it was in August, 
while she was busy in cooking, and began to tell her he was 
a gentleman, and worth an incredible sum of money ; that 
he could do and say wonders, and (without considering that 
his own hat'was all over grease and dirt; that his jacket was 
nothing but a thousand different patches ; that his breeches 
were torn throughout ; and his shoes all to pieces) he talked 
as great as if he had been some lord, saying, that he would 
buy her new clothes, and take her out of service, and that she 
should partake of his present possessions, as well as future 
fortunes, with a great deal more of that kind of stuff, mere 
froth and wind. The two young fellows, finding him thus 
engaged, were very well satisfied, supposing half their work 
to be done; and leaving them together, they went upstairs 
into the friar’s chamber, which was unlocked, when the first 
thing they saw was the wallet: this they opened, and found 
a cabinet wrapped up in some foldings of fine taffeta, in 
which was a parroquet’s feather, which they supposed to be the 
same that he had promised to show the people; and surely 
at that time it was easy enough to impose upon them in that 
manner. Theeastern luxury had not then reached Tuscany, 
which has since flowed in upon us, to the ruin of our country; 
the ancient simplicity still prevailed; nor was there a person, 
so far from seeing, that had ever heard of such a thing as a 


ae, | 


Pe 306 THE DECAMERON 


parrot. Not a little pleased at meeting with this feather, 
they took it away, and, that the box should not be empty, 
_ _jput some coals therein, which they saw lying in the corner 
of the chamber; and wrapping it up again as before, and 
making all safe, they walked off, waiting to. see how he would 
behave when he found the coals instead of the feather. 
The people that were at church being told that they were to 
see the angel’s feather, went home and acquainted all their 
neighbours, and the news ran from one to another, so that the 
moment dinner was over, they all crowded to the town, in 
such manner, that every part was full, waiting for the sight. 
Accordingly Friar Onion, having eaten a good dinner, and 
taken his nap after it, understanding now that there were 
zreat multitudes expecting him, sent to the servant to come 
away with his wallet, and ring to church. The fellow, 
though loth to leave his mistress and the fireside, did as 
he ordered him, and fell to chiming the bells. As soon 
then as the people were all assembled, the friar, not per- 
ceiving that anything had been meddled with, entered upon 
his discourse, running over a thousand things proper to his 
purpose ; and being come to the showing of the feather, 
[he began,,with a solemn confession, and lighting up two 
torches, and gently unwrapping the silken cover, having 
first pulled off his cap, he took out the box, and making 
some short ejaculations to the praise and honour of the 
angel Gabriel, and of that relic, he opened it. When 
seeing it full of coals, he could not help secretly blaming 
himself for leaving such a fellow in trust, who, he imagined, 
had been imposed upon by somebody or other; but yet, 
without so much as changing colour, or showing the least 
concern, he lifted up his eyes and hands to heaven, and 
_ said, ‘‘O God, blessed for ever be Thy power and might!” 
And shutting the box, he turned again to the people, and 
added, ‘‘ Gentlemen and ladies, you must all understand, 
that being very young, I was sent by my superior to those 

_ parts where the sun first appears, with an express command 
to inquire into the nature of porcelain, which, though it 

_ cost but little in making, affords more profit to others than 
it does to us. For this purpose I embarked at Venice, and 
went through Greece; I proceeded thence, on horseback, 





SIXTH DAY © 327 


| thioaght the kingdom of Garbo, and through Baldacca; after- 
wards I came to Parione, and so to Sardinia. But what need 
I mention to you all these places? I coasted on still, till I 
passed the straits of St. George, into Truffia, and then into 
Buffia, which are countries much inhabited, and with great 
_ people. From thence into the land of Lying, where I found 
many of our order, as well as of other religious, who avoid all 
_ labour and trouble, for Heaven’s sake ; taking no care for 
other people’s sufferings, when their own interest is promoted 
thereby, and where they spend only uncoined money. 
‘Thence I went to the land of Abruzzi, where the men 
and women go upon socks over the mountains, and make 
themselves garments of swines’ guts, and where they carried 
bread in their staves and wine in satchels. Parting from 
thence I came to the mountains of Bacchus, where the 
waters all run down hill. Last of all I arrived in India 
Pastinaca, where, I swear to you by the habit I wear, that I 
_ saw serpents fly, a thing incredible to such as have never 
seen it: but I should be loth to lie, and therefore, as 
soon as I departed thence, I met Maso del Saggio, a great 
merchant, whom I found cracking nuts and selling the 
shells by retail. Nevertheless, not being able to find what 
I went to look for, and being to pass from thence by water, 
I returned to the Holy Land; where in summer a loaf of 
cold bread is worth fourpence and the hot is given away 
for nothing. There I found the venerable father (blame | 
me not, I beseech you) the patriarch of Jerusalem, who, — 
out of reverence to my habit and love to our Lord Baron 
St. Anthony, would have me see all the holy relics which 
he had in keeping, and which were so many that were I to 
recount them I should never come to an end: but yet, not 
to leave you altogether disconsolate, I shall mention a few. 
First, then, he showed me a finger of the Holy Ghost, as 
whole and perfect as ever; next a lock of hair of that 
seraph which appeared to St. Francis; with the paring of 
a nail of a cherub; and a rib of the Verbum Caro, fastened 
to one of the windows; some vestments of the Holy Catholic 
faith ; and a few rays of that star which appeared to the 
wise men: a viol also of St. Michael’s sweat when he fought 
with the devil: the jaw-bone of St. Lazarus, and many | 


— 


328 THE DECAMERON 


others. And because I gave him two of the plains. of 
Mount Morello, in the vulgar edition, and some chapters 
del Caprezio, which he had been long s« sp hi ater, he 
let me partake of his relics. And, first, © save mes tooth 
of the Sancta Crux; and a little bottle ailed with some 


of the sound of those bells which hung in the Serpe of 
Solomon ; a feather also of the angel Gabriel, as I have told 
you ; with a wooden patten, which the good St. Gherrardo 
da Villa Magna used to wear in his travels, and which I 
have lately given to Gherrardo di Bonsi, at Florence, who 
holds it in great veneration. He further gave me some of 
the coals on which our blessed martyr, St.. Laurence, was 
broiled, all which I devoutly received, and do now possess. 
It is true my superior would not suffer me to make them 
public till he was assured that they were genuine; but 
being now convinced of it by sundry miracles, as well as 
by letters received from the patriarch, he has given’ me 
leave to show them ; and which, for fear of trusting any 
one with them, I always carry with me. Indeed, I have 
the angel’s feather, for its better preservation, in'a wooden 
box, and I have St. Laurence’s coals in another, and which 
are so like each other that I have often mistaken them; 
and so it has happened now, for instead of that with the 
feather I have brought the box which contains the ‘coals. 
This I would not have you call an error; no, I am well 
assured it was Heaven’s particular will, now I call to mind 
that two days hence is the feast of St. Laurence. There- 
fore it was ordered that I should show you the most holy 
coals on' which he was broiled, to kindle in your hearts 


_ that true devotion which you ought to have towards him, 


and not the feather; approach then, my biessed: children, 
with reverence, and uncover your heads with all due devo- 
tion whilst you behold them. But first I must acquaint 
you that whoever is marked with these coals with the sign 
of the cross’ may live secure for one whole year, that no 
fire shall have any power over him.” So, singing a hymn 
to the praise of St. Laurence, he opened the box and 
showed the coals, which the simple multitude beheld with 
the utmost zeal and astonishment, and crowded about him 
with larger offerings than usual, entreating to be signed by 


SIXTH DAY 32g 


them. Then taking the coals in his hand, he began to 
mark all their white mantles, fine jackets, and veils, with 
the largest crosses that could be made upon them, affirm- 
ing that what was consumed of the coals in this manner 
grew again in the box, as he had frequently experienced. 
Thus having crossed all the people of Certaldo to his own 
great benefit; by this dexterous device he laughed in his 
sleeve at those who had designed to have made a jest of 
him. And they, being present at his discourse, and hearing 
this sudden shift of his and how he had set it off to the 
multitude, were ready to die with laughter. After the 
people were all departed, they went and told him, with 
all the pleasure in the world, what they had done, and 
returned him his feather, which served him the following 
year to as good purpose as the coals had done that day. 
This novel afforded great mirth to the whole company, 
and they laughed heartily at the father, his pilgrimage, and 
holy relics. Whilst the queen, knowing her reign to be at 
an end, took the crown from her own head, and placed it 
with a smile upon Dioneus, saying: ‘‘ It is now time for you 
to prove what a task it is to govern women. Be king, there- 
fore, and rule in such a manner that in the end we may 
have reason to praise you.” MDioneus, accepting the crown, 
replied merrily, ‘I doubt not but you may have often seen 
a better king among the chess-men than I shall make, but 
yet, if you will obey me, I will take care you shall have 
plenty of that, without which no entertainment is ever 
thoroughly agreeable ; I mean that I will direct according 
to my own taste and fancy.” Calling then the master of 
the household, he ordered what should be done during his 
own royalty, when he added, “Ladies, we have had so 
many subjects already, showing the several devices and 
means of human industry, that I am at a loss what to give 
you, unless you will accept of the following, namely, con- 
cerning such tricks and stratagems as women, either out of 
love or for their own security, have put upon their husbands, 
whether they have been detected or not.” This seemed 
not so decent to some of the ladies, and they desired him 
to change it. But he replied, “‘ Ladies, I know as well as 
you do what the subject is and all that you can allege will 
Li 


330 THE DECAMERON 


have no weight with me to make me alter it; considering 
that the season now is such that, provided we have regard 
to our actions, any discourse for a little amusement is allow- 
able. Know you not that through the malignity of the 
times the judges have now left their tribunals, the laws 
both Divine and human are silent, and every,one has leave 
to do what he thinks necessary for his own preservation? 
Therefore, if we take a little more liberty than ordinary in 
our discourse, with no bad intention, but only to pass away 
our time in an innocent inoffensive manner, I see no room 
for reflection. Besides, from the very first day of our, meet- 
ing we have kept always within the bounds of decency, and so 
I hope we shall continue to do.;/ Who is there also that is un- 
acquainted with your modesty and virtue? Which, so far 
from being shaken by any light discourse, would be proof even 
against the terrors of death. And, to tell you the truth, who- 
ever should see you averse to such little diversions, might 
suspect that your characters were not so clear as they should 
be, and that you refused to join in them for that reason. Not 
to mention the little honour you do me in first choosing me 
your king, and then refusing to obey my commands. \ Away 
then with this suspicion, more befitting base and wicked 
dispositions than such as yours ; and, without further hesita- 
tion, let every one think of some pleasant story.” 

Upon this they agreed that it should be as the king 
desired ; and he then gave them leave to depart till supper- 
time. The sun was yet a good height, as the novels had 
been but short; therefore, whilst Dioneus, with the other 
gentlemen, were sat down to play at tables, Eliza called the 
other ladies apart, and said, ‘‘ Ever since we have been here 
have I desired to show you to a place not far off, where I 
believe none of you ever was, and which is called the 
Ladies’ Valley ; nor have I had an opportunity before to-day 
of doing it. As it is yet some hours till night, if you would 
choose then to go thither, I daresay you will. be pleased 
with your walk.” The ladies answered that they were all 
willing, and, without saying a word to the gentlemen, they 
called one of their women to attend them, and after a walk 
of near a mile they came to the Ladies’ Valley, which they 
entered by a straight path; from whence there issued forth 


SIXTH DAY 331 


a fine crystal current, and they found it so extremely beautiful 
and pleasant, especially at that sultry season, that nothing could 
exceed it ; and, as some of them told me afterwards, the plain 
in the valley was as exact a circle as if it had been described 
by a pair of compasses, though it seemed rather the work of 
nature than art, and was about half a mile in circumference, 
_ surrounded with six mountains of a moderate height, on each 
of which was a palace built in form of a little castle. The 
descents from these mountains were as regular as we see in a 
theatre, when the circle of each landing grows gradually less 
and less till it comes to the bottom.. Whilst that part that 
looks towards the south was planted as thick as they could 
- stand together with vines, olives, almonds, cherries, figs, and 
most other kinds of fruit trees ; and on the northern side were 
fine plantations of oaks, ashes, &c., so tall and regular that 
nothing could be more beautiful. Thevale, which had only 
that one entrance, was full of firs, cypress trees, laurels, and 
_ pines, all placed in such order as if it had been done by the 
direction of some exquisite artist, and through which little or 
no sun could penetrate to the ground, which was covered with 
a thousand different flowers. But what gave no less delight 
than any of the rest was a rivulet that came through a 
valley which divided two of the mountains, and running 
through the vein of a rock made a most agreeable murmur 
with its fall, appearing, as it was dashed and sprinkled into 
drops, like so much quicksilver; which arriving in the 
plain beneath was there received in a fine canal, and run- 
ning swiftly to the middle of the plain, formed a basin not 
deeper than the breast of a man, which showed its clear 
gravelly bottom, with pebbles intermixed, so that any one 
might see and count them ; the fishes also appeared swim- 
ming up and down in great plenty, which made it wonder- 
fully pleasant ; whilst the water that overflowed was received 
in another little canal, which conveyed it out of the valley. 
Hither the ladies all came together, and, after much praising 
the place and seeing the basin before them and that it was 

° + . 
very private, they agreed to bathe.) Ordering, therefore, 
their maid to keep watch, and to let them know if anybody 
was coming, they stripped and went into it; and it covered 
their delicate bodies in like manner as a rose is concealed 


332 THE DECAMERON 


in a crystal glass. After they had diverted themselves 
there for some time with bathing, they clothed themselves 
again and returned at a gentle pace, commending all the 
way the wonderful beauty of the spot; and coming to the 
palace they found the gentlemen at play where they left 
them.—-When Pampinea said merrily to them,-“‘ We have 
put a trick upon you to-day.”—‘ What,” says Dioneus, 
“do you begin to act before you speak P”—*‘ No, sir,” 
quoth Pampinea.~ And she told them where they had been, 
what sort of a place it was, how far it was. off, and what 
they had been doing. ‘The king, upon her report, being 
very desirous of seeing it, ordered supper to be served 
immediately, which was no sooner ended than the gentle- 
men and their servants all went to this'valley, and having 
viewed every part, as they were never there before, they 
agreed that nothing in the world ever equalled it.» They 
bathed, therefore, and made what haste they could back, as 
it grew late, when they found the ladies dancing to a song 
of Flammetta’s; which being ended they were all loud in 
their praises of this valley. The king then called to the 
master of the household, and gave orders that dinner 
should be served there on the morrow, and beds carried 
for such as would choose to rest during the heat of the 
day.\ When this was over he ordered in candles, wine, and 
sweetmeats, and, having refreshed themselves, he bid them 
now prepare for a dance: and Pamphilus, by his appoint- 
ment, having made a beginning, his Majesty turned to 
Eliza, and said pleasantly to her, “Fair lady, you did me 
the honour of conferring upon me a crown yesterday ; in 
return, I fix now upon you for a song: let it be such an one 
as is most ea to yourself.” She smiled, and saying, 
with all her heart, began with a sweet voice the potollowing 


SONG 
CHORUS 
O love, could J escape from thee, 
I always would be free. 
I 


From early youth I chose 
Thy service as a sweet repose, 


SIXTH DAY: 333 


And all my power to thee consign’d § 
But see, at last, 
Thou, cruel tyrant, and unkind, 
Hast bound me in thy fetters fast, 
O love, &c. 


It 


“Tis for a faithless swain 
I languish and complain ; 
Nor sighs, nor tears can move 
His heart to love. 
O love, &c. 


ill 


The winds, with inauspicious breeze, 
Waft my unheeded pray’rs away, 
Whilst hourly I decay ; 

Yet neither life nor death can please. 
‘Then yield, in pity to my woe, 

That he thy bondage too may know. 
O love, &c. 


Iv 


Cupid, I humbly ask of thee, ) 
Or grant me this, or set me frees _ 
This favour if thou wilt bestow, 
My youthful bloom 
I shall resume, 
And on my face again the rose and lily blow 


CHORUS 


O love, could I escape from thee, 
I always would be free. 


Eliza concluded her song with a most piteous sigh; and 
all of them wondered what the words could mean; but the 
king, being in a good temper, called for Tindarus, and bid 
him bring out his bagpipe, to which they danced several 
dances ; till a good part of the night being spent in that 
manner, they gave over and went to bed. 


THE SEVENTH DAY 


THERE was not a star to be seen in the east, but that alone 
which we call bright Lucifer, which yet shone gloriously in 
the dawning day; when the master of the household arose, 
and went with the necessary provisions to the Ladies’ Valley, 
to have everything ready there, according to the king’s 
command; and he, being roused by the noise of the 
carriages, arose soon afterwards, and had all the company 
called, when they began their march just as the sun was 
appearing above the earth; nor did the nightingales and 
other birds ever seem to sing with such exquisite harmony 
as on that morning. Being ushered on the way by this. 
music, they came to the Ladies’ Valley, where, being 
saluted by choirs of many others, it appeared to them as 
if all the birds in the valley joined in concert to rejoice at 
their arrival. Now, viewing it all over again, it seemed 
much more delightful than the day before, as the gaiety of 
the morning was more conformable to the beauty of its 
appearance. After a repast of wine and sweetmeats, not to 
be behindhand with the birds, they began to sing, whilst 
the valley all around echoed back their songs: and the 
birds, unwilling to be outdone, replied in’ new and ravish- 
ing notes. At the usual hour the table was spread under 
the shade of the trees, by the side of that beautiful lake, 
whilst the whole time of dining were they amusing them- 
selyes with observing the fishes swimming before them, 
which afforded various matter for discourse. When the 
tables were removed, they turned again to sing as merrily 
as before. Whilst beds being prepared in different parts of 
the valley, made close like pavilions, the king gave leave 
for such as desired it to go to sleep, and the rest had liberty 
to amuse themselves in the meantime as usual. At the 
334 


SEVENTH DAY - 335 


appointed time they met by the basin side near where they 
had dined, and sitting down upon carpets, which were 
spread there for them, the king desired Emilia to begin, 
and she, with a smile, complied. 


NOVEL I 


Gianni Lotteringhi hears a knocking at his door, and wakes his wife, 
who makes him believe tt is a spirit, and they both go to conjure tt 
away with a certain prayer, after which the notse ceases. 


Srr, I had much rather any one else had begun such a fine 
subject, as this is, than myself; but, smce it is your pleasure 
that I should be first, Iam ready to comply. I purpose, 
therefore, to relate what may be of use to you for the time 
to come; for, if other ladies are as timorous with regard to 
spirits as I am (although I know nothing certain about 
them, nor have I met with anybody yet that does), they 
will here learn a good and effectual prayer to drive them 
away. | 

There dwelt formerly at Florence, in the’ street of St. 
Brancazio, a certain wool-comber, called Gianni Lotteringhi, 
one more fortunate in his trade than wise in other respects ; 
for, being an easy sort of a man, he was frequently chosen 
a director of the singers in new St. Maria’s church, when 
they had their meetings at his house, and other little favours 
they showed him, upon which he greatly valued himself. 
This was because he gave considerable alms to the brethren 
there, and, in return for shoes, hoods, and cloaks, which 
they were daily getting from him, they presented him with 
the Pater Noster in the vulgar tongue, the song’ of St. 
Alexis, the lamentation of St. Bernard, the hymn of Lady 
Matilda, with more such sort of ware, which he set great 
store by, and kept carefully for his soul’s health and welfare. 
Now he had a gay, handsome wife, called Tessa, the 
daughter of Mannuccio dalla Cuculia, an artful, sensible 
woman, who, knowing the simplicity of her husband, and 
being in love with Federigo di Neri, an agreeable young 
man, she contrived with her maid that he should come to 


336 THE DECAMERON 


see her at a country-house, which Gianni had, at a place 
called Camerata, where she used to pass the summer, when 
her good man would come sometimes thither to sup, and 
stay all night, and return in the morning to his prayers and 
his shop. 

Accordingly, Federigo came and spent that night with 
her, when it was agreed between them not to have always 
the trouble of sending for him, that, as often as he went 
backwards and forwards, he should look to a vineyard, 
which was by the side of the house, where he would see an 
ass’s skull fixed upon one of the poles there, and, when 
the snout of that was turned towards Florence, he might 
safely come, and if the door was shut, upon knocking three 
times, she would let him in: but if it was turned towards 
Fiesole, he should then depart, for he might be assured 
her husband was with her at that time. By this contrivance 
they had frequent meetings. But one night it happened, 
that, expecting Federigo to sup with her, she had provided 
a couple of fowls, when her husband chanced to come in 
late, at which she was greatly concerned, and they sat. down 
together to a little bacon which she had boiled by itself, 
whilst she ordered the maid to carry, in a clean napkin, the 
fowls, with some eggs for sauce, and a bottle of wine, into 
the garden (to which there was a way without going through 
the house, and where she and her lover used frequently to 
meet), and to lay them under a certain peach-tree adjoin- 
ing to the fields. And her hurry was so great, that she 
forgot to desire the maid to wait till Federigo came, to tell 
him that her master was then at home, and that he should 
take those things away with him. Therefore Gianni and 
she being gone to bed together, and the maid likewise, it 
was not long before Federigo came, and tapped gently at 
the door, which was so near to their chamber that Gianni 
immediately heard it, as did his wife, who, to prevent any 
suspicion, pretended to be asleep. Presently he knocked 
a second time, at which Gianni was surprised, and began 
to jog her, saying, “ Do not you hear? Somebody knocks 
at our door.” She, who heard it better than himself, pre- 
tended to wake out of her sleep, and said, ‘‘ What is the 
matter?” ‘I tell you,” quoth he, “that I thought some- 


SEVENTH DAY 337 


body was at our door.” ‘At our door!” she replied, 
*“Alas!.do not you know what that is? It is a spirit, 
which has terrified me so for several nights past, that I 
have covered myself in bed, and not dared to look about 
me again till it was broad daylight.” “Go,” quoth Gianni, 
*‘why should you be afraid, if itis so? For, before I went 
to bed, I said the Ze ducts, and the Jnfemerata, with divers 
other good prayers, and I signed all the bed-posts with the 
cross, so that it-can have no power over us.” The lady 
now, to: prevent Federigo’s taking any offence at her, 
thought it best to arise, and let him understand, by some 
means or other, that Gianni was there: therefore she said 
to her husband, “ What you have done may have secured 
yourself; but, for my part, I shall not think myself so, 
unless we conjure it down now you are here.” ‘Conjure 
it down!” quoth Gianni; ‘how is that to be done?” 
“Oh,” said she, ‘‘ I. know how to do it; for the other day, 
- when I went to Fiesole for a pardon, one of those recluses, 
a most religious lady, seeing me afraid, taught me a certain 
prayer, which, she assured me, she had often tried to good 
purpose before she wasanun. Alas! I could never have 
the boldness to make use of it alone; but, as you are now 
with me, we will go together, and repeat it.” Gianni 
declared that he was willing; and so they went softly to 
the door, whilst Federigo began to be uneasy at waiting 
there. so long. ‘‘ Now,” she said to Gianni, “you must 
take care to spit when I desire'you.” “I will,” he replied. 
She then began her charm, and said, “Spirit, spirit, as you 
came, the same way you may go; but look in the garden, 
and you will find two fowls, some eggs, and a bottle of 
wine; drink of the wine, and go away, and hurt not me nor 
my Gianni.” Having done this, she said to her husband, 
“Spit, Gianni.” Accordingly, Giannispat. Whilst Federigo, 
who was without, and heard this, was roused from his 
jealousy; and, with all his disappointment, had much ado 
to keep from laughing out, saying to himself, “I wish you 
had spat out your teeth.” She repeated it three times, and 
then they went to bed. Federigo, who had depended upon 
supping with her, and was fasting, hearing this charm, 
went to the peach-tree, and found the capons, wine, and 


eae Se ea: aes 
Sy ne er 


4 
ar 


- 


338 ) THE DECAMERON 


tlle a 
Sr ta 


xis 





eggs, and carried them home, when he madea good supper; 
and being with her some time after, they were very merry 
concerning this enchantment. Now some people tell the 
story otherwise, and affirm that the ass’s head was turned 


towards Fiesole, but a labourer in the vineyard’ gave it a 


turn by chance with his stick, and so set! it the wrong way, 


} 


which occasioned Federigo’s coming at that time; whilst 
‘she made use of the following words, . “Spirit, spirit, go 
away in God’s name; it was not I, but'somebody else, that 
turned the ass’s head. Plague on him, whoever it was; 


_ but Iam here with my husband;” and that he went away 


without his supper. But a certain old lady, a neighbour 


_ of mine, told me that both stories: were true, as'she had 


heard when she was a child, and that the latter did not 


_ happen to Gianni Lotteringhi, but to one called Gianni di 
__ Nello,-just:such another ‘simpleton as Gianni Lotteringhi. 
Then pray, ladies, take which charm you like best: both 


have been of service to others in this» sort’ of ‘cases, as 


: _ you: have heard. Try them, and they may be as useful 
_ to yourselves. te 


NOVEL Il 


_ Péronella puts her gallant into a tub on her husband's coming home ; 


which tub, the husband had sold; she consequently tells him that 
she had also sold it to a person who was then in it to see if it were 


“A sound. Upon this the man jumps out, makes the husband clean tt 


for him, and carries it home. 


‘Emuiia’s novel was heard with a great deal of mirth, and 
the charm esteemed a very good one, when the king 
ordered Philostratus to follow,’which he did in the follow- 
ing manner :— Ome | 

My dear ladies, the tricks which are put upon you'by us 
men, and especially by your husbands, are’ so many, that 
if ever it happens that a woman does the ‘like, you should 


not only be pleased to hear of it, but you yourselves should 


_ spread it everywhere, to let the men understand, that if 


they are wise, you'are so too. This must have a good 


effect, for when it is known that people are forewarned, 





SEVENTH DAY 339 


nobody would go about so soon to deceive them. Who 
sees not then that this day’s discourse being noised among 
the men, may not be a restraint upon them in that respect 
when they come to find that you know how to serve them 
in the same way? Iwill tell you, therefore, what a woman, 
though but of mean rank, did to her husband in a moment, 
as it were, for her own safety. 

It was not long since that a poor man at Naples married 
a young handsome wife, named Peronella; and he being a 
mason, and she spinning every day, they managed to gain 
a tolerable livelihood. Now it happened that a young man 
in the neighbourhood took a liking to her, and making a 
discovery of his inclinations, it was at length agreed be- 
tween them, that as the husband went out every morning 
to his work, he should watch that opportunity to come to 
her, which accordingly he did more than once. But one 
morning amongst the rest, the honest man being gone 
abroad, and Giannello Strignarjo, for that was the gallant’s 
name, visiting her ‘as usual, in a little time the husband 
returned, though he was not used to come home till night, 
and finding the door bolted on the inside, he knocked, 
and then said to himself, ‘Thank Heaven, though I am 
poor, I have an honest and careful wife; for no sooner 
am I gone out but she makes all fast, that nobody should 
come, in my absence, to do us any injury.” Peronella, 
who knew it was her husband by his manner of knocking, 
said, ‘“ Alas, Giannello, Iam a dead woman; my husband 
is returned; I cannot imagine for what reason, unless it 
was that he’ saw you come in; but, for God’s sake, be it 
as it will, go you into that tub, whilst I open the door, 
and we shall then see what this sudden return of his 
means.” Accordingly he stepped into it, whilst she let 
her husband into the house; and putting on an angry 
look, she said, “‘ Pray, what new fancy is this, your coming 
home so early to-day? As far as I can find, you are dis- 
posed to do no more work, that you have now got your 
tools with you. And what are we to live upon in the 
meantime? Do you think I will suffer you to pawn my 
gown, and what few clothes J have? I do nothing but 
spin night and day, till I have worn my fingers to the very 


vA 


440 THE DECAMERON 


stumps, and all will scarcely find.us oil to our lamp. 
Husband, husband, there is not a neighbour we have but 
wonders and makes a jest of me for all the labour I 
undergo, and yet you return here, with your hands in your 
pockets, when you ought to be at work.\/ Wretch that I 
am, in an ill hour was I born, and worse that I happened 
to meet with you! I could have had a young man that 
would have maintained me well, and I refused him for this 
creature here, who knows not how to value a, good wife. 
Other women have a good time with their gallants; nay, 
some have two or three, and make their husbands believe 
the moon is made of green cheese; and because I am 
virtuous, and have no regard for such practices, for that 
reason I am used the worse; I see no cause why I should 
not have my gallants as well as they.) I would, have you 
know, that I have had offers of money and other things 
from a number of young gentlemen, but nothing of that 
kind could seduce me: no, I was never the daughter of 
such a mother, and yet you will come home when you 
ought to be at work.” The husband then replied, ‘* My 
dear, do not make yourself uneasy; I am no stranger to 
your merit, and have had further proof of it this morning : 
I did go out to work indeed ;' but neither of~us then knew 


found means that we shall have bread for a month, for I 
have sold the tub, which you know has been long in our 
way, to this man whom I have brought with me, for five 
shillings.” ‘This is so much the worse,” an d she; 
you that go up and down, and should know things better, 
to sell a thing for five shillings which I, a poor ignorant 
woman, that keep always within doors, considering the 
room it took up in our house, have now sold to an honest 
man for six, and who had just got into it as you came to 
the door, to see whether it was sound.”\ When the hus- 
band heard this he was over and above rejoiced, and said 
to the man he had brought, ‘Friend, you may go about 
your business; you hear it is sold for six, .whéreas you 
were to have given no more than five.” ‘With all my 
heart,” said the honest man, and away he went. ‘ But,” 


SEVENTH DAY 341 


quoth Peronella to her husband, “as you are now here, 
even make the agreement with the man yourself.” Giannello 
who was listening to what passed between them, hearing 
these words, came out of the tub; and, as if he knew 
nothing of the husband all the time, said, ‘‘ Where is the 
good woman?” The husband, stepping forward, replied, 
“Here I am; what do you want?” ‘Who are you?” 
answered Giannello, ‘I want the woman who sold me the 
tub.” ** You may make the bargain with me,” quoth the 
honest man, “‘for I am her husband.” ‘Then,’ said 
Giannello, “the tub appears to be sound; but it seems 
as if you had kept something of dregs in it, for it is so 
crusted all over in the inside, that I cannot scratch off one 
bit with my finger-nail; therefore I will not have it till it 
is made clean.” Peronella replied, “ This shall never break 
the bargain; my husband will soon clean it for you.” The 
husband said, with all his heart ; and laying down his iron 
tools, and stripping to his shirt, he got a scraper, and 
going into it with a candle, he fell to work: and whilst 
he was thus busied, she often calling out to him to scrape 
it well, they took care to employ their time in a different 
manner. At length, when the husband came out of the 
tub, she said to Giannello, ‘* Here, honest man, take the 
candle and see whether it is to your liking.” He peeped 
into it, and said it was; gave them the six shillings, and 
had it carried to his own house. 


NOVEL IIt 


Friar Rinaldo has an affair with a lady in the neighbourhood, when he 
makes the husband believe that he ts upon a charm to cure their 
child of the worms. 


_ Puitostratus did not speak so covertly at last, but the 
ladies took his meaning, though they seemed to laugh at 
something else, when Eliza was now ordered to speak, 
which she did as follows :—Emilia’s conjuring down the 
spirit brings to mind another conjuring story, which, 
though it may not be equal to hers, yet as I can think 


342 THE DECAMERON 


of no other I shall relate it, There lived at Siena a 
genteel young man, and of a good family, called Rinaldo, 
who had long paid his court to a beautiful lady in the 
neighbourhood, wife to a certain rich man, but hitherto 
without effect. At length, whatever was the reason, he 
turned friar, and whether that kind of life was to his liking 
or not, he persevered in it. ‘Though for a time therefore 
he had laid aside his regard for the lady, and other little 
vanities, yet ere long he was the same person again, affect- 
ing an extraordinary neatness in his dress, and making 
ballads and love songs, whilst. he was constantly at balls 
and other diversions of that sort. But why am I so 
particular with this friar? Are not they all of the same 
stamp? Alas! to the scandal of a dissolute world, they 
are not ashamed to appear plump and ruddy, with their 
garments fine and delicate, whilst they walk along the 
streets, not like doves so much as high-crested cocks; 
and what is worse (not to mention their chambers being 
filled with pots of rich conserves, perfumes, and other 
costly compositions, with bottles of fine distilled waters 
and oils, with vessels also of malmsey, and the best Greek 
wines, so that you would take them for a perfumer’s or a 
druggist’s shop), they are not ashamed I say, to have it 
known they are gouty; supposing us to. be ignorant that 
abstinence and a coarse diet make people less corpulent 
and more healthful; or that constant fasting and prayer 
should not cause them to be pale and out of order: and 
as if we had never heard that St. Dominic and St. Francis 
thought themselves well clothed when they had one suit 
of coarse russet cloth to keep,out the cold, without ever 
thinking of so many changes of fine apparel for mere show 
only, and which the simple credulous multitude 1s obliged 
to pay for. Our friar then falling into his former way of 
living, began to renew his application to this lady; who, 
thinking him perhaps more agreeable than before, did not 
much withstand it, only she said, ‘‘ What! do the friars 
give their minds to such things?” He replied, ‘“ Madam, 
take but my habit off, and I am like other men.” Thus 
the affair was soon agreed, and they had frequent meetings 
afterwards, One day, among the rest, he went to visit 


SEVENTH DAY 343 


her, and finding nobody with her besides a servant-maid, 
he sent his companion with her into a pigeon-loft to teach 
her some prayers there, whilst he and the lady, with a 
little infant of hers, went into the chamber, when she 
made the door fast; but the moment almost this was 
done the husband came, and called to her to open it. 
At this she was frightened to death, and said, ‘‘ What shall 
I do? my husband is here, and will now find out the cause 
of our acquaintance.” The friar having his cloak and hood 
off, replied, “* Had, I but my clothes on we could find an 
excuse ; but if you open the door, and he finds me in this 
manner, we shall both be ruined.” Then said she, “ Put 
on your clothes instantly, and when you have done tebe 
our child in your arms, and attend to what I shall say 

make your words agree with mine; and leave the res’ 

me.” Now calling to her husband, who continued kno 

ing at the door, she said, “I am coming.” Accordingly 
she went to let him in, and putting on a cheerful counte- 
nance, she said, ‘‘ Husband, it was the greatest blessing in 
the world that Friar Rinaldo happened to be here to-day, 
for otherwise we had certainly lost our child.” The husband 
was ready to faint away, and inquired how it happened? 
“‘Q husband,” quoth she, “it had a fit, and I knew not 
what to do, when the friar luckily came in, and taking the 
child in his arms, he said, ‘Madam, it is owing to worms 
which lie at his heart, and would soon kill him; but be 
not afraid, I will charm and destroy them all, so that before 
I leave him, he shali be as well as ever.’ Now as we 
wanted you to say some prayers, and the maid did not 
know where to find you, he sent his friend to the top of 
the house to say them in your stead; whilst we shut our- 
selves up in this chamber, as nobody could be present at 
such a mystery besides the mother, and he has the child 
now in his arms, and only waits till his friend has made an 
end to conclude the whole process, for the child has come 
to himself already.” The honest man, who, out of his great 
love for his child, was far from suspecting such a trick, 
fetched a deep sigh, and said, ‘‘I will go and see him.”— 
‘By no means,” she replied, “for that will spoil the whole 
thing ; but stay, I will see first if you may be admitted, and 


344 THE DECAMERON 


then call you.” The friar, who heard the contrivance, was 
now dressed, and having the child in his arms, and every- 
thing in readiness, he called out, “‘ Madam, is not that your 
husband P”—“ Yes,” answered he, ‘I am here.”——* Then 
come hither,” quoth he, “and behold your son; whom =I 
thought you would never more have seen alive. Take 
him, and in return make a statue of wax of the same big- 
ness to the honour of St. Ambrose, through whose merits 
you have received this extraordinary favour.” ‘The child 
at seeing his father showed several little acts of fondness, 
whilst he received him with as much joy and wonder as if 
he had been raised from the dead, returning great thanks 
to the friar for what he had done. The companion also, 
hearing all that had passed, came down into the chamber, 
and said, ‘I have gone'through all the prayers which 
you had enjoined me to repeat.” Friar Rinaldo replied, 
** Brother, you have done well, and you see by our joint 
endeavours the child is recovered.” The honest man on 
this treated them both with wine and sweatmeats, when 
they took their leave with great respect. And immediately 
he set about making the waxen image, and sent it to be set 
up with several others before the image of St. Ambrose ; 
but not St. Ambrose of Milan. 


NOVEL IV 


Tofano shuts his wife one night out of doors; who, not being able te 
persuade him to let her come in, pretends to throw herself inio a 
well, by throwing a stone in: he runs thither to see, during which 
she enters, and, locking him out, abuses him well, 


Euiza had no sooner made an end, than the king turned 
to Lauretta, who immediately began to this effect:—O 
Love, how great is thy prevailing influence! how various 
and subtle are thy devices! What artist, what philosopher, 
could ever think or contrive such shifts and evasions, as 
thou teachest in an instant to those that follow thy paths? 
All other instructions whatever are slow, compared to 
thine, as appears by what has already been said on the 
subject: to which I mean to add the stratagem of a certain 


SEVENTH DAY 345 


lady, conducted in such a manner as nothing but love 
could ever have dictated.- 

There lived at Arezzo a certain rich man named Tofano, 
who had a very handsome woman for his wife, whose name 
was Madam Ghita, of whom all at once, and without 
knowiag why, he became extremely jealous. ‘This greatly 
vexed the lady, who would frequently demand of him his 
reasons for such a suspicion; and he being able to assign 
none, but,such as were general, or nothing to the purpose, 
she resolved to plague him with the real evil, which hitherto 
had only been imaginary. And having observed that a 
certain young gentleman had taken particular notice of 
her, she encouraged him so far, that they only waited for 
a favourable opportunity to put their design into execution. 
Amongst the rest of her husband’s bad qualities, he had 
taken a great delight, she saw, in drinking, which she not 
only seemed, pleased with, but would persuade him to 
drink more. ~In this manner she used to make him drunk 
as often as she could, which afforded the first opportunity 
of being with her lover, and from that time they met con- 
tinually by the same means. She depended indeed so 
much upon this drunken disposition of his, that she would 
not only bring her lover into her house, but even go and 
spend the greatest part of the night along with him, his 
residence not being very far off. Continuing this way 
of life; the husband began to perceive that, whilst she 
encouraged him to drink in that manner, she scarcely 
tasted ‘it herself, and from thence to suspect, as was really 
the case, that she made him drunk with a view only to her 
own private purposes, during the time of his being asleep. 
And being willing to have proof of this, he pretended once 
(without having drunk a drop all that day), both in his words 
and actions, to be the most disordered creature that could 
be. Which she perceiving, and thinking that he had then 
had a dose sufficient, and that he would sleep without any 
more liquor, straightway put him to bed. This was no 
sooner done, but she went. as usual to her lover’s house, 
where she stayed the best part of the night. Tofano 
finding his wife did not come to bed, got up, and bolted 
the door, and then went and sat in the window to wait for 


j 346 THE DECAMERON 
her coming home, that she might see he was acquair 


| _ | 
iJ 


| with ner way of going on; and continued there till | 
return.) She finding the door bolted, was’ exceedir 


-__ uneasy,'and tried several times. to force it open. Wt 


after Tofano had suffered for some time, he said, “¢ Mad: 
you give yourself trouble to no purpose, for here you sl 
not come: go back, if you please, for you shall enter 
more within these doors, till I have showed you tl 
respect, which these ways of yours require, before all yc 
relations and neighbours.” She then begged, for Heave: 
sake, that he would open the door, saying, that she h 
not been where he imagined; but (as the evenings we 
long, and she able neither to sleep all the time, nor to: 
up by herself) that she went to see a gentlewoman in tl 
neighbourhood. But all was to no purpose, he seeme 
resolved that the whole town should be witnesses « 
their shame, when otherwise they would have know 
nothing of the matter. 
_. The lady, finding her entreaties of no effect, had recourse 
'o threats, and said, “ Either open the door, or I will make 
you the most miserable man that ever was born.” Tofadno 
replied, * And which way will you do it?” She, whose 
wits were sharpened by love, continued, “Before I will 
suffer such a disgrace, as you mean wrongfully to fasten 
upon me, I will throw myself directly into this well, and 
being found there afterwards, everybody will conclude that 
you did it in one of your drunken fits; whence it must 
i pape happen, that you be either obliged to fly your 
ountry, and lose all your effects; or else that you be put 
to death, as having murdered your wife.” This, however, 
had no effect upon him; when she said, ‘I can no longer 
bear all your scorn, God forgive you for being the cause of 
my death!” and the night being so dark that they could 
‘scarcely see one another, she ran towards the well, and 
taking up a great stone that lay by the well-side, and 
crying aloud, “God forgive this act of mine!” she let it 
fall into the well. The stone made a great noise when it 
‘came to the water, which Tofano hearing, firmly believed 
that she had thrown herself in, and taking the rope and 


bucket, he ran out to help her. But she, who stood con- 


SEVENTH DAY 347 


evaled by the side of the door, seeing him go toward the 
ell, got into the house, and made all fast, whilst vi 
o the window, and began to say to him, ‘‘ Why, band, 
you should use water whilst you are drinking, and not after 
ou have made yourself drunk.” Tofano, seeing her laugh 
him, returned, and finding the door bolted, begged 
of her to open it. But she now changed her note, and 
cegan to cry out, “You drunken, sorry, troublesome 
‘etch! you shall not come in here to-night; I can no 
ger bear with your evil practices; I will let all the 
ld know what sort of a person you are, and what hours 
»\ keep.” Tofano, on the other part, being grievously 
ovoked, used all the bad language he could think of, 
| made a most terrible mutiny. Upon which the neigh- 
ours were all raised out of their beds; and coming to 
* windows, inquired what was the matter.| When she 
Biman to lament and say, “It is this wicked man, who is 
co.aing home drunk at all hours of the night, which, 
having endured a long time, and said a great deal to no 
purpose, I was now willing to try if I could not shame him 
out of it by locking him out.” ‘Tofano, on the contrary, 
told them how the matter was; and threatened her,\very 
much. She then said to the neighbours, “Now y alee 
what sort of a man he is: what would you say if Iw 
the street, and he within doors, as Iam? Then you might 
think he was in the right. Take notice, I beseech you, 
how artful he is; he says I have done that which he seems 
to have done himself, and talks something about the well; 
but I wish he was in it, that he might have some water as 
well as wine.” ‘The neighbours all joined in blaming 
Tofano, deeming him the person in fault, and giving him 
many hard words for his usage of his wife; and the thing 
was noised about the city, till her relations heard of it, who 
came thither in a body; and inquiring of one neighbour 
and another neighbour how it was, they took Tofano and 
beat him very severely. Afterwards they went. into the 
house, and carried the lady away with them, with all that 
was i: threatening Tofano with further punishment. 
hi’ “x, finding the ill effects of his jealousy, and still 
havii gard for his wife, got some friends to intercede 







348 THE DECAMERON 


with her to come home again, promising never more to be 
jealous, and giving her leave for the future to do as she 
would. Thus, like a, simple knave, he was glad to purchase 
peace, after having been to the last degree injured. 


NOVEL V 


A jealous man confesses his wife under a pries?s habit, who tells him 
that she is vistted every night by a friar ; and, whilst he ts watching 
the door, she lets her lover in at the house-top. 


LAURETTA having made an end, the king, without loss of 
time, pointed to Flammetta, who began in this manner :— 

The preceding novel brings to my mind the story of 
another jealous person ; being of opinion myself that those 
husbands are justly served in that manner, who are jealous 
without reason. » And if legislators, when they. make their 
laws, could be supposed to think of everything, I imagine 
they would decree no other punishment than what. is 
ordered in cases of self-defence, for those jealous people 
are the death frequently of their wives. All the week long 
are they kept mewed up in their houses, and when holidays 
come that they should have some ease and diversion, as all 
other people, according to the laws both ef God and man, 
have then rest, yet on those are they more confined than 
any other time; so that none are so wretchedly enslaved 
as themselves... Therefore I conclude that-a trick put 
upon a husband, who was jealous without any reason, will 
by you be rather commended than blamed. 

There lived in Ariminio a certain rich merchant, who 
had an agreeable woman for his wife, of whom he was 
immoderately jealous, and for no other reason in the world, 
but that as he was very fond of her himself, and knew that 
it was her whole study to please him, so he imagined every 
one else would like her as well, and that she would be as 
desirous to oblige them, which showed him to be one of a 
wicked disposition, as well as of little understanding. He 
consequently kept su strict an eye over her always, that no 
felon under sentence of death could be more narrowly 
watched. Whilst she, so far from going out to feasts at any 


SEVENTH DAY 349 


time, or ‘o church, or out of door, under any pretence what- 
ever, was aot suffered to look out of the window; so that 
she led a most wretched life, and so much the worse, as she 
knew herself to be innocent. Thus, finding herself so 
wrongfully treated, she resolved, for the time to come, to 
give him some reason for such usage. And as she had no 
opportunity of seeing people in the street, and knowing that 
there was an agreeable young man lived in the next house, 
she looked about to see if there was any chink in the wall, 
whereby she might have an opportunity of speaking to him, 
to make him an offer of her love, and to have him come to 
her sometimes, if such a thing could be contrived, in order 
to spend her life with a little more comfort, till her husband 
should be cured of his jealousy. At last, ina corner of the 
room, she espied a crack which looked into a chamber of 
the next house, and she said to herself, ‘‘ Now if this should 
prove Philippo’s chamber,” for that was the young gentle- 
man’s name, “‘my scheme would be half accomplished ;” 
of this she ordered her maid to inform herself, who soon 
found out that he lay there all alone. Visiting then that 
place pretty often, and putting little sticks and straws 
through into the chamber, he soon perceived it, and came 
thither to see what it meant. She then called to him, and 
he answered, knowing her voice, when she soon made her 
mind known to him, which was entirely to his good liking ; 
and he endeavoured to enlarge the opening on his side, 
taking care all the time that nobody should perceive it. 
From that time they frequently conferred together, and 
could shake hands, but no more, because of the husband’s 
extraordinary care and jealousy. Now Christmas Day 
drawing near, she said to her husband, that, with his leave, 
she would go to church that day, to confess and receive the 
sacrament, like other good Christians. He replied, ‘‘ And 
pray what sins can you have committed, that you want to 
confess P””—‘* What!” quoth she, ‘do you take me for a 
saint? Though you keep me shut up in this manner, yet 
I must sin as well as other people ; but I have no occasion 
to teil you, as you are no priest.” These words occasioned 
such a strong suspicion in him, that he was resolved to 
know what those sins were; and having determined what 


350 THE DECAMERON 


means to use, he told her he was willing, but that she 
should go only to their chapel, and that betimes in the 
morning, and confess to their chaplain, or some person that 
he should appoint, and to no other, and return from thence 
directly home. The lady seemed partly to know his design, 
and, without making any other reply, said she would do so. 

On Christmas Day, then, in the morning, she arose be- 
times, and went to the chapel, as her husband directed her. 
He also went to the same place, getting there first, and 
having agreed with the priest what to do, he put on a gown, 
with a great hood almost to cover his face, as we see priests 
wear sometimes, and drawing it forwards over his eyes, he 
placed himself down in the choir. The lady, upon her 
coming into the chapel, inquired for the priest; who, 
hearing from her that she wanted to confess, told her that 
he could not stop to hear her himself, but would send one 
of his brethren. Accordingly he sent the jealous husband, 
in an ill hour for him as it happened, who had not so well 
disguised himself but she immediately knew him, and said 
to herself, ‘‘ Thank Heaven, from a jealous fool he is become 
a priest ; but I will take care to give him what he seeks for.” 
Seeming then not to know him, she sat down at his feet. 
Now he had put some little stones into his mouth, to alter 
his voice, thinking himself well enough disguised as to 
everything else. Coming then to the confession, amongst 
other things, she told him, that, being married, she was yet 
in love with a priest, who came and lay with her every 
night. This struck him to the very heart, and were it not 
that he was desirous of learning something further, he had 
gone away, and left her that moment. So he said to her, 
** Well, but how is it? And does not your husband lie with 
your” ‘Yes, sir,” she replied. ‘ Then,” continued he, 
‘how can the priest lie with you at the same time?” “I 
know not how he does it,” quoth she, ‘‘ but there is not a 
door in the house but opens upon his touching it; he tells 
me also, that, upon coming to our chamber, before he opens 
the door, he says some certain words, which throw my 
husband asleep, and then he comes in, and lies with me, 
and the other never knows it.” ‘Oh, Madam,” quoth he, 
‘that isa very bad thing ; you must leave off such practices 


SEVENTH DAY 351. 


entirely.”  ‘* Ah, father,” answered she, ‘‘I know not how 
to do it, I love him so well.” ‘ Then,” continued he, ‘I 
can give you no absolution.” ‘I am sorry for that,” she 
replied, “but I came here to speak the ‘truth; if I could 
leave them off, I would tell you so.” ‘Iam sorry for you,” 
quoth he, “as I see your soul is in a state of damnation; 
but I will offer up my particular prayers for you, which may 
be of service, and I will send a person to you at certain 
times, when you may inform him if you think you have 
received any benefit, and in that case we will proceed 
further.” The lady replied, “Sir, never think of sending 
anybody to our house, for my husband is so unreasonably 
jealous, that all the world could never beat it out of his 
head but that he came with a bad intent, and I should not 
have one good day for this twelvemonth.” ‘‘ Madam,” 
quoth he, ‘‘have you no care for that, for I shall manage 
in such a manner that you will hear no more from him 
upon that score.” “If you can do that,” she replied, ‘‘I 
am content.” And having made an end of her confession, 
and received penance, she got up, and went to mass. The 
husband, fit to burst with fury, put off the priest’s habit, 
and went home, waiting to find the priest and his wife to- 
gether, in order to wreak his vengeance upon both; whilst 
she went out of the church, seeing plainly by his looks that 
she had given him but a bad Christmas-box, though he 
endeavoured to conceal both what he had done and meant 
further to do. 

Resolving then to wait the next night at the door for the 
priest, he said, ‘‘I shall go out to sup, and stay all night; 
be sure, therefore, you lock the door to the street, and that 
upon the stairs, as also your chamber-door, and when you 
are disposed you may go to bed.” She wished him a good 
night, and went immediately to the chink in the chamber, 
and made the usual sign, when Philippo came to her, and 
she told him what she had done that morning, and what 
her husband had said afterwards, adding, “I am confident 
he will never stir from the door all night long; do you 
contrive a way, then, to come in at the top of the house.” 
He replied, full of joy, “ Depend upon it, madam, I will.” 
When night came, therefore, the jealous husband armed 


a) | 


(38 THE DECAMERON 


c himself privately, and lay concealed in a ground-room, whilst 
‘she made the doors fast, especially that upon the stairs: 
and the young man, when he thought it a proper time, 
came by a secret way into her chamber. 

_ The husband, in the meantime, continued supperless all 
night long, uneasy to the last degree, and almost starved to 
death with cold, waiting by the door for the priest. Day 
appearing at last, and nobody coming, he composed him- 
self there to sleep. Rising at the third hour, and the door 

of the house being now opened, he came in, pretending to 
come from another place, and called for his breakfast. 

Soon afterwards he sent a messenger to her,as from the 
priest who confessed her, to know if that person had come 
to her since. She, who understood full well the nature of 
the message, replied, No, he did not come that night, arid 
that if he left off visiting her, she might forget him, although 
she had no desire to do so. 

_ What more need I say'to you? The husband continued 
to watch every night, and they were together all the time. 
At last, being out of all manner of patience, he demanded 
of her, with the utmost wrath in his looks, what it was that 
she had confessed to the priest? But she refused to tell 
him, saying, “ that it was neither just nor reasonable.” He 

_added, ‘‘ Thou vile woman, I know, in spite of thee, what 
it was, and I will make thee confess who this priest is that 
lies with thee every night, by virtue of his enchantments, 
or else I will cut thy throat.” She replied, “It is false; I 
never lay with any priest.” ‘‘ What,” said he, “did you 
not say so and so to the priest who confessed you?” 
i Not,” she replied, “for him to tell you again; but if you 
were present, it is a different thing: then, to be plain with 
you, I did say so.” ‘Now tell me,” quoth he, “who this 
priest is, and quickly.” She smiled, and said, ‘‘I am 

always glad to see a wise man led (by the horns, as it were) 
by a simple woman ; though you deserve not that character, 
since you have suffered yourself to be transported by that 
unreasonable fit of jealousy, without knowing why; there- 
fore the more weak you are the less is my glory. Do you 

think my eyes are as bad as your understanding? No; I 

iis very well who the priest that confessed me was, and 

a 


SEVENTH DAY 353 


that it was you. But I was resolved to give you what you 
wanted, and I think I have done so. But if you were as 
wise as you would be thought, you would never have 
desired to come at your wife’s secrets in that manner, and 
would have known, without any vain suspicion, that every 
word was true which I said, and without the least crime or 
ofience. I told you I loved a priest: were not you, my 
unworthy husband, then a priest? I said, no door could 
be kept shut when he had a mind to come to me: and is 
not that literally true? Iadded that the priest lay with me 
every night. And pray when did you lie from me? And 
when you sent to know if he was with me that night I 
answered he was not. Who but a person blinded with 
jealousy like yourself, but must have understood these 
things? And yet you kept watch all night at the door, 
and would have made me believe that you were gone else- 
where to sup and spend the night. . Consider a little better 
and behave like a man, nor expose yourself any longer to 
me, who am acquainted with all your ways; but leave oft 
this extraordinary care upon my account; for, I assure you, 
were I disposed to be what you suspect, had you a hundred 
eyes, whereas you have only two, I could do it over and 
over, and you be never the wiser.” 

The poor jealous creature, who had thought himself 
cunning before, now saw how he was despised, and, with- 
out more words, divested himself of that foolish and 
troublesome disposition; eSteeming his wife for the time 
to come as a virtuous and prudent woman. And she had 
no further occasion to make her lover come in at the top 
of the house, as cats do; for the door was open afterwards 
whenever they had a mind to be together. 


NOVEL. VI 


Isabella, being in company with her gallant, called Leonetto, and being 
visited at the same time by one Lambertuccio, her husband returns, 
when she sends Lambertuccio away with a drawn sword in his 
hand, whilst the husband guards Leonetto safe to his own house. 


Tey were all pleased with Flammetta’s story, declaring 
that the woman had served the brute exactly right. And 
M 


354 THE DECAMERON 


it being concluded, the king ordered Pampinea to go On, 
who then said :— 

There are many people so foolish as to affirm that love 
deprives persons of their understanding, and that they who 
are in love are out of their wits.. But how ridiculous this 
assertion is will appear by what has been said oefore, and 
also by what I am going now to tell you. 

In our city, abounding. with everything ‘that is good, 
there was formerly a beautiful lady, wife to a certain 
worthy knight, who desiring, as it will sometimes happen, 
a little variety, began to grow indifferent towards her hus- 
band, casting. her eye upon a certain young spark called 
Leonetto, one of no great family, but agreeable enough; 
he likewise began to: show the same good liking towards 
her, and it was not long before their wishes were accom- 
plished. Now it happened that another gentleman was in 
love with her also, called Lambertuccio, one by no means 
agreeable to her; but he ceased not to solicit her by all 
manner of ways, threatening at the same time, as he was 
a man of note and power, to lessen and expose her, unless 
she would comply with his desires. This terrified her so 
much that she thought herself obliged to listen to him. 
And being now, as it was summer-time, at one of their 
country houses, and her husband being gone from: home 
to make some stay, she sent for Leonetto to come and be 
with her in the meantime. He-obeyed her summons with 
great pleasure. _Lambertuccio, knowing also that her hus- 
band was abroad, came all alone on horseback, and knocked 
at the gate. Her maid, seeing him there; ran upstairs to 
her mistress, who was in her chamber with Leonetto, and 
said, ‘‘ Madam, Signor Lambertuccio is here below.” The 
lady was under the greatest concern imaginable, and de- 
sired Leonetto not to mind stepping behind the curtain of 
the bed till the other was gone. Leonetto, who feared 
him as much as she did, went and hid himself there, whilst 
she ordered her maid to go and let Lambertuccio in, who 
being dismounted, and hanging his horse at the door, was 
immediately shown upstairs; when she, meeting him at 
the top, asked, with a smile in her countenance, how she 
came to be favoured with the visit. ‘* My life!” quoth he, 


SEVENTH DAY 355 


“IT understood your husband was abroad, and it was for 
that reason I came to,see you.” He had not been long 
with her before her husband, contrary to her expectation, 
returned. As soon as the maid saw him, she came sud- 
denly into the chamber, and said to her mistress, “‘ Madam, 
my master is returned, and is now in the court.” The lady 
‘was quite confounded at hearing this, and, considering that 
‘she had two men in the house, and that the knight could not 
be concealed on account of his horse, gave herself up for lost; 
yet, resolving at length what to do, she said to Lambertuccio, 
‘Sir, if you have any regard for me, and are willing to save 
me from destruction, pray do as I shall direct you. Go 
downstairs with an angry countenance, and your sword in 
your hand, saying, ‘I vow to Heaven if ever I meet with 
him anywhere else—’ And if my husband should offer to 
stop you, or ask any questions, say nothing more than 
that; but mount your horse directly and ride away, nor 
offer to stay with him upon any account whatever.” Ac- 
cordingly he obeyed her directions, whilst the husband 
was wondering to see the horse there, and coming upstairs 
he was further surprised at Lambertuccio’s fierce coun- 
tenance, and hearing him talk in that manner; and he said 
to him, “* Pray, what is the matter, sir?” The other put 
his foot in the stirrup, and muttered only these words, 
“Tf ever I meet the villain again—,” and so rode away. 
The knight, going upstairs, found his wife at the stair-head, 
terrified out of her wits, and he said to her, ‘‘ What is the 
reason of Lambertuccio’s going away in so much heat and 
fury?” When she, drawing nearer to her chamber that 
Leonetto might hear, replied, ““My dear, I never was so 
frightened in my whole life. A gentleman whom I never 
saw before ran in here, and Lambertuccio after him with 
a drawn sword, and finding the chamber-door open, he 
came trembling into it, saying, ‘I beg, madam, you will 
protect me, otherwise I shall be murdered in your very pre- 
sence. I arose, and was going to ask him who he was, and 
what was the reason, when Lambertuccio was at the top 
of the stairs roaring out, ‘Where is the villain?’ Upon 
this I ran to the chamber-door, and stopped him as he 
was jist Coming in, when he was so civil to me, indeed, 


356 THE DECAMERON 


after he saw I was unwilling he should come into the 
chamber, that, after a few words, he went back again just 
as you met him.” The husband then said, ‘ My dear, you 
did well; it would have been a great discredit to us to 
have had anybody murdered in our house; and Lamber- 
tuccio was highly to blame to pursue a person hither. But,” 
quoth he, “‘where is the gentleman?” She replied, ‘‘ He 
is hid somewhere or other; I know not where.”—** Where 
are you?” quoth the knight; “you may come out without 
any danger.” Leonetto, who heard all that passed, came 
from where he was concealed much terrified, as indeed he 
had reason; when the knight said to him, “ Pray, what 
affair is this that you have had with Lambertuccio? ”— 
* Nothing,” he replied, “in the world that I know of; so 
that Iam convinced he has either lost his senses, or else 
mistakes me for some other person; for, upon seeing me 
in the street, at a distance from your house, he drew his 
sword, and said, ‘ Villain, thou art a dead man!’ I stayed 
to ask no questions, but made the best of my way, and 
came hither, where, thanks be to Heaven and this lady, I 
have found protection.” “Then,” said the knight, ‘be 
under no fear; I will see you safe home, when you may 
make inquiry what the ground of his quarrel with you is.” 
After supper, then, he mounted him upon one of his horses, 
and conducted him to Florence to his own house. And 
that night, by the lady’s direction, he had a private con- 
ference with Lambertuccio, when they so planned it, that 
though there was much talk afterwards about it, the husband 
never knew the truth of his wife’s stratagem. 


NOVEL VII 


Lodovico being in love with Beatrice, she sends her husband into the 
garden, disguised like herself, so that her lover may be with her in 
we meaniime; and he afterwards goes into the garden, and beats 

tm. 


IsABELLA’S quick and lucky thought was admired by the 
whole company, when Philomena began, by the king’s 
command, to this effect:—You must understand, that at 


SEVENTH DAY 35)? 


Paris dwelt a certain gentleman, a Florentine, who, being 
a little reduced, was forced to go into trade, by which 
means he acquired a great deal of wealth. He had only 
one son, named Lodovicc, who having regard to the 
nobility of his father, more than to anything of business, 
was, instead of being brought up in a warehouse, sent, 
with some other young noblemen, into the service of the 
King of France, where he acquired all the accomplish- 
ments that belong to a fine gentleman. And being one 
day in company with certain knights, who were just re- 
turned from the Holy Land, and tatking of beauties in 
England, France, and other countries, one of them declared, 
that, in all parts of the world, of all the women that ever 
he saw, he never met with any to come up to Beatrice, the 
wife of Egano de’ Galluzzi, of Bologna; to which his com- 
panions, who had been with him there, agreed. Lodovico, 
at hearing this, was possessed with such a desire of. seeing 
her, that he could think of nothing else; and designing to 
go and make some stay there, if she proved to his liking, 
he pretended to his father that he had an inclination to 
go to the Holy Land, who gave his consent with great 
reluctance. Changing his name then to Anichino, he 
came to Bologna; and, as fortune would have it, saw her 
at her window the very next day, when he found her 
beauty to exceed even his warmest imagination; and, 
being quite enamoured, he resolved: not to depart from 
Bologna till he had obtained his desire. Thinking, there- 
fore, which was the most likely way to succeed, he. sup- 
posed, that if he could but get to be a servant to the 
husband, he might probably carry his point. Accordingly 
he sold his horses, and, disposing of his servants, with 
orders never to take notice of him, he told his landlord 
that he should be glad to get into the service of some 
person of distinction, if such a place could be met with. 
The landlord replied, ‘‘You are just such a person as 
would suit a gentleman here, called Egano, who has a 
great number of servants, and will always have well-looking, 
genteei people about him, like yourself: I will speak to 
him for you.” This he did, and Anichino was immediately 
taken into the family, greatly to his satisfaction. Con- 


358 THE DECAMERON 


tinuing then with Egano, where he had daily opportunities 
of seeing the lady, he gained so far upon him he his good 
behaviour, that he could do nothing without him; and he 
made him sole director of all his affairs. When one day 
it happened, as Egano was gone out a-fowling, and left 
him behind, that Beatrice (who as yet knew nothing of 
his love, but had always commended his ‘most engaging 
behaviour) made him sit down with her at chess, and 
Anichino, as it was his whole desire to please her, con- 
trived to let her win, with which she was vastly delighted. 
At length, all the women being gone out of the room, 
and they left by themselves, he fetched a deep sigh: She 
looked, and said, ‘‘ What is the matter with you, Anichino? 
Are you uneasy because I win?”—‘*‘ Madam,” he replied, 
“it is a thing of more consequence which occasioned that 
sigh.”—** Then by the regard you have for me,” quoth she, 
‘*T conjure you to tell me.” When Anichino saw himself 
entreated by his love for her, whom he valued beyond all 
the world, he gave a greater sigh than before. She desired 
again to know the reason. Whilst he replied, ‘‘ Madam, 
Iam extremely afraid lest I should disoblige you by so 
doing: I doubt also if you-would not speak of it to some 
other person.” She made answer, “ Be assured I shall not 
be disobliged ; nor shall I ever speak of it again, unless 
you give me leave.”—‘‘ Then,” quoth he, “as I have 
your promise, I will reveal it.” And he told her, with tears 
in his eyes, who he was; what he had heard of her, and 
where; and how he came to be servant to her husband, and 
entreated her, in the most humble manner, to have pity on 
him, and accept of the secret offer of his love; or, if that 
was too great a favour for him to expect, that he might 
continue in the same condition as before; and that she 
would be pleased only to let him admire her. O! how 
singularly sweet are these Bolognian dispositions! In 
cases of this sort how worthy of praise! They delight 
not in people’s tears and sighs; but to soft and amorous 
entreaties, are ever easy of access. Were I able to give 
them their due praise, my voice should never faint on so 
agreeable a subject. The lady had her eyes fixed upon 
him all the time he was speaking, and giving entire credit 


SEVENTH DAY 359 


to his words, she began to conceive the same passion in her 
heart for him ; whilst she replied, ‘* Anichino, have a good 
heart; you have effected that in a moment (the small time 
only that you have been speaking) which ali the lords and 
gentlemen, who have been daily soliciting me, could. never 
bring to pass; so that now Iam more yours than my own. 
You have deserved my love, and you shall have it ; come, 
therefore, to my chamber about midnight.”. Upon this they 
parted, and he waited with great impatience for. night. 
Egano- was now returned from fowling, and, being weary, 
went, as soon as he had supped, to bed, and the lady with 
him, leaving the door open, as she had promised. At the 
time’ appointed, Anichino went into the bedchamber, and 
shutting the door again, he stepped gently to the lady’s 
side of the bed, when, laying his hand upon her breast, he 
found she was awake. Accordingly she seized it with both 
hers, and held him strongly, turning herself in bed at the 
same time, till she made her husband awake, when she said 
to him, *‘ My dear, I would say nothing to you last night, 
because you seemed to be weary; but tell me, which of 
your servants do you believe to be the most faithful, and 
whom ‘you respect the most?” Egano replied, ‘“ What a 
strange question this is!..Do not you know that I never 
loved, and put such confidence in any servant, as I now 
do in’ Anichino? But why want you to be informed?” 
Anichino, perceiving Egano to be awake, and hearing them 
talk together, endeavoured several times to have drawn his 
hand away, with a design of leaving the room, imagining 
that she had puta trick upon him; but she held him sc 
fast that he could not. She then replied to Egano, saying, 
*T will tell: you: I once thought as you do, and that he 
was the most trusty person about you, but I was mistaken ; 
for he had the assurance, after you were gone out yester- 
day, to make an offer of his love to me; whilst. I, to give 
you manifest proof of it, seemed to consent, and appointed 
to meet him this night under the pine-tree, in the garden. 
Now my intention was never to go thither ; but if you have 
a mind to be convinced of his villainy, you need only slip 
on one of my petticoats, and put a-veil over your head, and 
I am sure you will find him.”——“ Then,” quoth he, ‘‘ most 


360 THE DECAMERON 


certainly will I go.” Arising, therefore, and disguising him- 
self in that manner, as well as he could in the dark, he 
went into the garden to wait for Anichino. As soon as 
he was gone out she arose also, and made fast the door. 
Whilst Anichino, who had been under the greatest fears 
imaginable, and had endeavoured all he could to get from 
her, cursing both her and her love a thousand times over ; 
and himself likewise, for giving credit to her; finding out 
what was her design at last, was the happiest man imagin- 
able. At length, when she thought he had been as long 
with her as it was safe for him to stay, she said, “I beg of 
you to take a cudgel, and go into the garden; and, pretend- 
ing as if this was done only to make trial of my virtue, do 
you give him some hard language, as though it was myself, 
and cane him soundly.” Accordingly he arose, and took a 
good stick with him thither; whilst Egano, seeing him 
come towards the’ pine-tree, went with a great deal. of 
seeming pleasure to meet him. When Anichino said, 
* What! you wicked woman, are you come? And could 
you think I could do such a thing by my master? I will 
make you repent your baseness.” And lifting up. his 
cudgel, he laid on to some purpose.—Egano, at these 
words, and feeling the blows, took to his heels, without 
speaking a word, whilst Anichino was close after him, 
crying out, “Away, you vile creature! and depend upon it 
that my master shall: know to-morrow.” Egano having 
sustained all this drubbing, returned at last to his chamber, 
when the lady. said to him, ‘‘ Well! did Anichino come 
into the garden?” Egano replied, ‘‘ Would to God he had 
stayed away! for, besides all the foul language that could 
be used to any woman, he has broken almost all.the bones 
in my skin. I wondered indeed that he should use those 
rude expressions, if he had such an intention as I supposed 
him to have, towards you. But, as he saw you of sucha 
free, cheerful temper, he had a mind to make trial of you, I 
suppose.”——‘‘ Then thank Heaven,” quoth she, ‘‘he proved 
me with words, and you with deeds. But, I believe, he 
may say that I bore the words better than you did the 
deeds: as he has shown himself so faithful, therefore, to 
you, you will regard him accordingly.”—‘‘ Most certainly,” 


SEVENTH DAY 361 


said Egano: and from that time he concluded that he had 
the most virtuous wife and honestest servant of any man 
in the world. On which account (though Anichino and 
she often laughed together at the thing) they had an 
opportunity of gratifying their desires with the less sus- 
picion (which could not have been done so well without 
such a stratagem) all the time Anichino thought fit to stay 
with Egano at Bologna. 


NOVEL VIII 


A woman who kad a very jealous husband, tied a thread to her greai 
toe, by which she informed her lover whether he should come or 
not. The husband found tt out, and whilst he was pursuing the 
lover, she put her maid in her place. He takes her to be his wife, 
beats her, cuts off her hair, and then fetches his wife’s relations, 
who find nothing of what he had told them, and so load him with 
reproaches. 


BEATRICE seemed to them all to have been strangely 
spiteful towards her husband; and every one agreed that 
Anichino’s fright and confusion must have been very great 
to be held in that manner, whilst she told her husband of 
his design upon her. The king now seeing that Philomena 
had done, turned to Neiphile, and said, “ Do you speak.” 
Neiphile smiled and replied :— 

A great charge at present rests upon me, to relate some- 
thing equal to what has been said already; but I shall 
endeavour to acquit myself as well as I can. 

Know, then, that in our city lived a certain rich merchant, 
named Arriguccio Berlinghieri, who, like many of our trades- 
people nowadays, foolishly thought to ennoble himself by 
marriage ; and he took a wife, not at all suitable to himself, 
whose name was Sismonda. She (her husband, like other 
persons of business, being often abroad) fell in love witha 
young gentleman called Ruberto, who had long paid his 
addresses to her, and being not so discreet in that affair 
as she ought to have been, it happened, whether her 
husband had any notion of it, or for what other reason 
I cannot tell, that he became the most jealous creature 

M 2 


362 THE DECAMERON 


in the world, and laying aside all his other concerns, he 
applied his mind wholly to the care of her; nor would he 
ever go to sleep without seeing her first in bed. This 
was the greatest affliction to her, as it deprived her of 
all opportunity of being with her gallant: therefore, 
after much thinking about it, and being greatly impor- 
tuned by him all the time, it came into her head at last 
to take the following method: namely, as her chamber 
was towards the street, and she knowing that, though 
her husband was long sometimes before he went to 
rest, yet that when he was once fast he was not 
easily stirred; she meant to have her lover come to 
the door in the middle of the night, and to go and 
let him in whilst the husband was asleep. And that 
she might know when he was there, and nobody else 
perceive it, she resolved to put a thread out of the 
window, one end of which should go near to the 
ground, and the other end was to be brought low along the 
floor, and so under the clothes into the bed; which, when 
she went to bed, she would tie to her great toe. Having 
acquainted Ruberto with this, she told him that, as often 
as he came, he should pull the thread, when, if her husband 
was asleep, she would let it go; but, if he was not asleep, 
she would hold it fast, and then he was not to expect her. 
Ruberto liked this scheme mighty well, and he was 
frequently coming thither, when sometimes he could have 
her company, and sometimes not. Till at last, carrying on 
this device in the same manner, it happened, whilst she 
was asleep, as the husband was stretching out his feet in 
the bed, that he met with this thread; when putting down 
his hand and finding it tied to her toe, he thought within 
himself there must be some trick here: perceiving after- 
wards that the other end went out of the window he held it 
for granted ; accordingly he took it off her toe and put it 
upon his own, waiting to see what the event would be. 
He had not been long expecting, before Ruberto came, 
and. pulled the thread as usual: Arriguccio perceived it, 
and not having tied the thread fast enough, and the other 
drawing pretty strong, it came into his hand, which he 
supposed was for him to stay, and so he did. Arriguccio 


SEVENTH DAY. 363 


upon this arose with all haste, and taking arms with him, 
he went to the door, to see who it was, and to take 
vengeance on him. Now, though he was a merchant, he 
was a stout, warlike man; and being come to the door, 
and not opening it in the manner the lady used to do, 
Ruberto began to have a suspicion how it was, and imme- 
diately took to his heels, and the other after him. At last 
Ruberto having run a great way, and the other still pursuing 
him, he faced about (as he was armed likewise) and drew 
his sword, whilst the one continued pushing, as the other 
stood upon his defence. The lady awoke the moment her 
husband opened the chamber-door, and finding the thread 
gone from her toe, concluded she was discovered. And 
perceiving that he had run after her lover, she arose, re- 
solving what to do; and calling her maid (who was in the 
secret) she prevailed upon her to go into her bed; begging 
of her to receive all the blows patiently which her master 
should give, without making any discovery; and she would 
make her such a recompense, that she should have no cause 
to repent. Putting out the light then which was in the 
chamber, she went and hid herself in a corner of the house, 
waiting for the event. The fray between Arriguccio and 
Ruberto had alarmed all the neighbours, who arose and 
began to reprove them very severely: on which Arriguccio, 
without knowing who his antagonist was, or being able to do 
him any harm, left him (for fear of being known himself), 
and returned full of wrath to his own house. And coming 
into the chamber, he said, ‘Where is this vile woman? 
What ! she has put out the candle that I should not find her; 
but she shall be mistaken. So he went to the bedside, and 
began to beat and kick the maid (thinking it was his wife), 
till he was quite weary, and what with his hands and feet to- 
gether, had bruised her face to a mummy. When he had 
done that, he cut off her hair, saying all the reproachful 
things that could be spoken to a woman. The girl roared 
out very much (as indeed she had reason); and though she 
would frequently say, ‘‘ For God’s sake have mercy!” and 
nothing more, yet her words were so broken with lamenta- 
tions, and he so biinded too with fury, that he never dis- 
covered her not to be his wife. Having beat her then to 


364 THE DECAMERON 


some purpose, and cut off her hair (as we observed), he said, 
‘Thou vile prostitute, I shall meddle with thee no further, 
but will go for thy brothers, to let them know of thy exploits, 
when they may do as they shall think most for their own 
credit, and take thee away with them; for:here thou shalt 
no longer abide:” so he locked her in, and went away by 
himself. 

As soon as Sismonda (who had heard the whole trans- 
action) perceived he was gone, she came into the chamber, 
and struck a light, when she found the girl all bruised, and 
in tears. And having comforted her in the best manner she 
was able, she removed her. to her own apartment, where 
she was well taken care of: and rewarding her, at Arriguc- 
cio’s expense, to her own content, she went immediately and 
set her room to rights; making the bed over again, as if no- 
body had lain in it that night ; and she lighted up the lamp, 
and dressed herself as if she had never been in bed. Then 
taking up her work, she sat herself down at the top of the 
stairs, and began to sew. Arriguccio in the meantime went 
with all possible haste to her brothers’ house, and knocked 
there till he made them hear and open the door. ~When the 
brothers (who were three) and the mother all arose, hearing 
it was he; and seeing him come alone, at that time of night, 
they inquired the reason. Whereupon he related the whole 
affair, beginning with the thread, and going on to what he 
had done afterwards, and at length, by way of conviction, 
showed them the hair which he had cut off; adding that, 
in regard to their own honour, they might take her away 
and dispose of her as they pleased, for that he would be no 
longer troubled with her. The brothers were greatly offended 
at hearing this story, and in their fury ordered torches to be 
got ready, preparing to go back with him, that she might not 
want her due treatment; whilst the mother went heavily 
after, sometimes entreating one, and sometimes another of 
them, not to be too hasty in condemning their sister ; al- 
leging, that he might have quarrelled with her upon’ some 
other account, and now brought this by way of excuse; 
adding, that she wondered how it could be; seeing that 
she well knew her daughter, having brought her up herself ; 
with more words to that effect. Being now at the house, 


SEVENTH DAY | 365 


and going upstairs, Sismonda called out to them, and said, 
“Who is there?” When one of her brothers replied, ‘‘ You 
shall soon know, you vile creature as you are!” ‘Lord 
have mercy on me!” said she, “what is all this for?” And 
rising up, she went, saying, “ Brothers, you are welcome; 
but what is the meaning of your coming all three at this 
time of the night?” They, observing that she had been 
sitting at work, and without any such bruises or blows 
as the husband had talked of, began to wonder; and abat- 
ing a little of their former wrath, they inquired the meaning 
of this difference with her husband, threatening her severely 
if she spoke anything but the truth. The lady replied, “I 
know not what you would have me'say, nor of any quarrel 
that I have had with him.” Arriguccio, at beholding her, 
was like one confounded, remembering that he had scratched 
and beat her tn a most outrageous manner, of which no 
sign now appeared ; and her brothers then told her what 
they had heard from him. She now turned to him, and 
said, ‘‘‘ Alas! my dear, what is this I hear! and why would 
you have me thought to be a wicked person, to your great 
disgrace, when I am not so; and yourself an ill-tempered 
sorry man, when it is quite otherwise? When were you 
here to-night before now? Or when did you beat me? 
For my part, I know nothing of the matter.” Arriguccio 
replied, ‘You abominable wretch! what, did we not go 
to bed together? Did I not return hither again, after 
pursuing your gallant? Did I not give you a thousand 
blows at the same time that I cut off your hair?” 

She made answer, ‘You never went to bed in this 
house to-night; but, letting this alone, for which you can 
have only my word, and to come to what you talk of, 
namely, of your beating me, and cutting off my hair, let 
any one see if I have such bruises upon me; nor should I 
advise you to attempt ever to serve me so; for, as I hope 
to be saved, I would return the like, if you did. And, as 
to cutting off my hair, I never knew anything of it if it was 
so; but let us see whether it be as you say, or not.” She 
then pulled her veil off, and showed her hair all entire, and 
in order. The brothers and the mother, seeing this, said 
to him, “How now, sir! Surely this can never be the 


366 THE DECAMERON 


thing that you came to acquaint us with; which way will 
you prove the rest?” Arriguccio was like one out of his 
wits. Gladly would he have said something, but seeing 
the thing appear differently from what he had undertaken 
to show them, he could not get out one word. She now 
said to her brothers, “<I see he has a mind I should relate 
to you his vile proceedings, and my own unhappiness, and 
I will do it.. I believe firmly that what he says may be true, 
and I’ll tell you which way. This sorry fellow, to whom you 
gave me in an ill hour, who calls himself a merchant truly, 
and would be thought such, and who therefore should be 
as temperate as a hermit, and as modest as a maid ; this 
man, I say, is drunk most nights, in one tavern or other; 
one while with one prostitute, and then again with another, 
whilst Iam forced to sit up for him, in the manner you now 
found me, till midnight for the most part, and often till morn- 
ing. And being very drunk, he might find a thread tied to 
the toe of one of those strumpets, and run aftersome person 
or other, and fight him, as he says; and returning back, he 
might beat her in that manner, and cut off her hair: and 
not being thoroughly sober again, he imagines it was done 
to me; if you observe, he appears now to be half fuddled : 
therefore I would have you consider him as a person in 
liquor, and forgive him even as I mean to do.” 

The mother, at these words, made a great clamour, and 
said, ‘‘ My dear child, it shall never be ; he deserves hang- 
ing, for an ill-conditioned brute as he is. He is unworthy 
of such a woman as you are. What could he have done 


more, had he caught you in the open street? Things are ~ 


come to a fine pass truly, if you must be set down by the 


words of a little paltry merchant. This sort of fellows, you — 


must know, if they have but a httle money in their pockets, 
are all for a gentleman’s daughter; when they pretend to 


some coat of arms, and say, ‘Ff am of sucha family, and © 


my ancestors did so and so.’ Would to Heaven my sons 
had followed my advice! Count Guido would gladly have 
taken you without a penny of fortune; yet they chose to 


marry you to this jewel here: and though there is not a | 
better gentlewoman nor one more virtuous in Florence, yet © 


he. was not ashamed to call you strumpet, as if we were — 


| 


SEVENTH DAY 367 


strangers to your Character. But, as I hope to live, were 
they ruled by me, they: would beat him to a mummy.” 
Turning now to her sons, she said, “I told you, as we 
came along, that it could never be true. You hear how 
this fine brother of yours uses your sister: a poor sorry 
fellow as he is! were. I in your place, hearing what, he has 
_ both said and done towards her, I would never leave him 
with life. Confound him! for a drunken, quarrelsome 
villain, to have’ no shame in him!” Here the brothers 
said all the severe things they could think of; concluding 
at last with saying, “We forgive you this once, as you 
were drunk, but take care we hear no more such stories , 
if we do, we will pay off all your old scores,” and so’ they 
left him. ‘Arriguccio stood hke one who. had lost his 
senses, scarcely knowing whether all this was real, or 
only a dream, and from that: time quarrelled no more 
with his wife; whilst she not only, escaped from the 
most imminent danger, but opened a way to obtain her 
desires, without the least fear of her husband for the time 
to come. 


NOVEL IX 


Lydia, the wife of Nicostratus, being in love with Pyrrhus, did three 
things which he had enjoined her, to convince him of her affection. 
She afterwards used some familiarities with him before her hus- 
band’s face, making him believe that what he had seen was not real, 


NEIPHILE’s novel had pleased them all to that degree, 
that they could not keep from laughing and talking about 
it, although the king had several times called out silence, in 
order that Pamphilus should speak ; who at length began 
in this manner:—There is nothing, I am persuaded, so 
dangerous and difficult, that a person who is thoroughly 
in love will not attempt; which, though it has been shown 
by various. instances already given, yet I think will be 
still more apparent from a story which I am going to 
tell you, of a lady much more fortunate than wise. There- 
fore ] would advise no one to run the risk. of following her 
paths; because neither is fortune always disposed, nor are 
all men to be blinded in the same. manner. 


368 - THE DECAMERON 


In Argos, an ancient city of Achaia, more famous for- 
merly for its kings than great, lived a certain nobleman called 
Nicostratus, to whom fortune, in the decline of his life, had 
given a young lady for his wife, of as great a spirit as she was 
beautiful, named Lydia. Now he, being a lord of a large 
estate, kept a great number of servants, dogs, and hawks, 
and was very fond of country diversions. Amongst his other 
servants was a genteel young man named Pyrrhus, whom he 
valued and trusted above all the rest. With this person she 
was so much in love, that she could never be happy but in 
his company; whilst he (whether he did not, or would not 
perceive her regard for him), seemed not at all affected by 
it. This she laid much to heart, and resolving to make him 
understand her, she called one of her favourite maids, whose 
name was Lusca, and said to her, “‘ Lusca, the favours you 
have received from me, should make you both obedient 
and faithful; take care, therefore, that you reveal what I 
am going to speak to no one, save to the person concerned. 
You see what a great disproportion there is between my 
husband’s age and mine, and may suppose I can have 
but little comfort with such an one; for that reason I have 
made choice of our Pyrrhus.. If you have any regard for 
me, then, let him know my love for him in the best manner 
you are able; and entreat him, on my part, that he would 
please to come hither to me.” The girl promised’ to do 
so; and, on the very first opportunity, she took Pyrrhus 
aside, and delivered her message. ‘This surprised him very 
much, as not having the least notion of such a thing ; and 
being apprehensive that it might be done to try him, he 
answered roughly, ‘‘ Lusca, I can never think this comes 
from my lady ; then take care what you say: or, if she did 
say So, you could never have her orders to disclose it; or, 
even admitting that, still I have that regard for my lord, 
that I could never offer to do him such an injury: I charge 
you, then, let me hear no more about it.” Lusca, not at 
all abashed at his stern way of speaking, replied, *‘ Pyrrhus, 
I shall speak at all times what I am ordered by my lady 
to say, whether it offends you or not; but, for your 
part, you are no better than a brute.” And she returned — 
full of wrath to her mistress, who was fit to die on 


SEVENTH DAY 369 


hearing it; and in a few days she said again, ‘You know, 
Lusea, that one stroke never fells an oak; then go once 
more, and tell him that his fidelity is at my expense; repre- 
sent the passion I have for him in such a manner that he 
may be affected with it: for, if he continues so indifferent, 
it will go near to cost me my life.” The girl desired her 
to take courage; and going again to Pyrrhus, and finding 
him in good humour, she said, ‘‘I told you, a few days 
ago of the great regard my lady had for you; and I now 
assure you, that if you continue in the same resolution, 
she will never survive it: then be persuaded, or I shall 
think you the greatest fool in the world.. What an honour 
will it be to have the love-of such a lady! Consider how 
greatly you are obliged to fortune: she offers you a most 
beautiful woman, and a refuge from your necessities. Who 
will be happier than yourself, if you be wise? Do but 
represent to yourself whatever an ambitious heart can 
desire ; all will be yours. Open then your understanding 
to my words, and remember that fortune is wont to come 
once in our lives to us with cheerful looks, and her lap full 
of favours; if we turn our backs on her at that time, we 
may thank ourselves should we be poor and miserable ail 
the rest of our days. You talk of honour and fidelity: 
there is something indeed in that plea among friends: but, 
with regard to servants, in such a case, they may do just as 
their masters would behave to them. Can you imagine, had 
you a wife, daughter, or sister, that our master fancied, that 
he would stand on such nice terms of duty, and all that, as 
you now do to his wife? You can never be so foolish, 
but you must believe that, if persuasion was ineffectual, he 
would make use of force. Let us serve them, therefore, as 
they would serve us; make use of fortune’s kind offer in 
your favour: for, depend upon it, setting aside the consider- 
ation of what may happen through your refusal to the lady, 
if you do not, you will repent the longest day you have to 
live.”. Pyrrhus, who had made several reflections on what 
she had said before to him, and had resolved to make a 
different reply if ever she came again, being now not averse 
to the thing provided he could be assured she was in ear- 
nest, made answer, ‘‘ Lusca, this is all true, I confess, but yet 


370 THE DECAMERON 


as my lord is a very wise and: provident person, and, as ] 
am entrusted: with the. management of all his affairs, I am 
afraid that my lady only does this to try me: three things 
then there are that I require of her for my own conviction, 
after which I will obey all her commands. The first is, that 
she kill my lord’s favourite hawk before his face; the second, 
that she send mea lock of his beard ; and the third, one of 
his soundest and best teeth.” These seemed very hard con- 
ditions to the maid, and more so to the mistress ; but love, 
who is a good comforter as well as counsellor, soon made 
her resolve. Accordingly, she sent him word, by the same 
person, that all three should be done. And further, that, 
as he had such an opinion of his:lord’s wisdom, she would 
also undertake to make him not believe his own, eyes. 
Pyrrhus then waited to see what course she meant to take. 
In a few days, therefore, Nicostratus having prepared a 
great entertainment, as he used frequently to: do, just as 
the cloth was taken away, she came into the hall richly 
dressed, and there, in the presence of Pyrrhus and the 
whole company, went to the perch where the hawk was, 
and unloosed him, as if she had a mind to take him upon 
her hand, when taking him by the jesses, she dashed his 
brains out against the wall. And while Nicostratus was 
crying out, ‘Alas! my-dear, what have you done?” she 
took no notice, but:turned to the people, and said, I should 
scarcely revenge myself of a king that was to do me an 
injury, if I wanted courage to wreak. myself on a paltry 
hawk. You must know, that this bird has deprived me of 
all the pleasure I should have from my husband: for, by 
break of day he is up, and on horseback, after his favourite 
diversion, whilst I am left all alone, and neglected: for 
which reason I have long taken a resolution to do this 
thing, and only waited for an opportunity to have so many 
equitable judges present, as I take you to be.” 

The gentlemen, supposing her affection to Nicostratus 
to be as fervent as her words seemed to declare, laughed 
heartily ; and, turning to Nicostratus, who seemed a good 
deal disturbed, they. said, ‘“‘She, has done very well in 
taking her revenge upon this hawk;” and, after a. little 
raillery, changed his resentment into a fit of laughter. 


SEVENTH DAY 371 


Pyrrhus upon seeing this said to himself, ‘‘She has made a 
noble beginning, Heaven grant that she may persevere !” 
—The hawk being thus despatched, it was not long 
before she happened to be toying with her husband in 
the chamber, whilst he, pulling her gently by the hair, 
gave occasion for her to put Pyrrhus’s second command in 
execution : when taking hold of a little lock of his beard, 
and laughing heartily at the same time, she pulled so hard 
that it brought the skin ‘and all away together. He grew 
very peevish at this, and was going to quarrel with her; 
when she said, “‘ You make an angry face, truly, because I 
plucked a hair or two off your beard ; you were not sensible 
what I suffered when you pulled me by the hair just now.” 
So, continuing their play from one word to another, she took 
care of the tuft of his beard, and sent it that very day to het 
lover. She was more perplexed about the last thing; but, 
having an enterprising genius, which was rendered more so 
by love, she soon resolved on what means to use to bring 
that about. And, as Nicostratus had two youths in his 
house, given him by their fathers, who were gentlemen, in 
order to learn good breeding, one of whom carved his 
victuals whilst the other filled out the wine, she made them 
both believe one day that their breath was very offensive ; 
and she taught them, when they waited upon Nicostratus, 
to turn their heads on one side always, but never to speak of 
it to any person. This they believed, and did as they were 
directed. One day she said to him, “Did you ever take 
notice of your pages’ behaviour when they wait upon you ?” 
—‘* Yes,” said he, ‘I have, and have been often going to ask 
them the reason.”—‘* Then,” she replied, ‘you may spare 
yourself that trouble, for I can tell you. I have kept it some 
time from you, for fear of disobliging you; but, now I see 
other people take notice of it, I can conceal it no longer. 
It is then because you have a stinking breath; I know not 
what the cause may be, for it did not use to be so; but it 
is a most grievous thing, as you keep a great deal of com- 
pany: therefore I would have you take some method or 
other to get rid of it.”——‘‘ What,” said Nicostratus, ‘can it be 
owing to? Have I a foul tooth in my head?” She replied, 
“Perhaps you have ;” and, taking him to the window, she 


372 THE DECAMERON = 


made him open his mouth, and after looking carefully in 
every part, she said, ‘‘Oh, my dear! How could you bear 
with it so long? Here is a tooth which seems not only 
rotten, but entirely consumed ; and if you keep it any longer 
in your mouth, will certainly decay all on the same side: I 
advise you then to have it out before it goes any further.” — 
** As you think so,” quoth he, ‘‘and I approve of it too, send 
instantly for an operator to draw it out.”—‘‘ Tell me of no 
operator,” said she; “I will never agree to that; it seems 
to stand in such a manner that I think I could do it myself: 
besides, those fellows are so barbarous upon those occasions, 
that my heart could never bear to have you under their hands. 
Therefore I will try to do it myself; and, if it gives you too 
much pain, I will let you go again, which those people will 
never do.” Getting now an instrument for that purpose, and 
sending every one out of the room, excepting her favourite 
maid, she seated him upon a stool, and laying hold of a 
tooth whilst the other kept him fast down, she put him to 
most intolerable pain, and at length drew it out by main 
force: then keeping the tooth, and producing a rotten one 
which she had ready in her hand, she said: to the poor 
ran, who was almost dead,.‘‘See here what it was you had 
in your mouth!” and he, believing it to be so, though he 
had felt the most exquisite torture; and complained much 
of her harsh way of doing it, as it was out, thought himself 
cured ; and having taken some good comfortable things, the 
pain abated, and he went out of the chamber. The tooth she 
immediately sent to her lover, who, being now convinced 
of her love, held himself in readiness to obey her com- 
mands. But she, willing to give him some further assur- 
ance, and thinking every hour an age till she could be 
with him, feigned herself to be very ill; and her husband 
coming one day after dinner to see her and nobody with 
him but Pyrrhus, she desired that, by way of ease to her 
malady, they would take her into the garden. Accordingly 
Nicostratus took hold of one arm and Pyrrhus the other, 
and leading her thither, laid her on a grass plat under 4 
pear-tree: and sitting down by her, she, who had before 
instructed him what to do, said to Pyrrhus, “I have a 
great desire to have some of those pears; do you climb up 


SEVENTH DAY 3 





up, and as he was throwing down some of the pears, h 


began to call out, “‘So! what are you doing there below’. 


np, 
Do you think I am blind? I find, madam, you are soon 


recovered after your fit of sickness. You had better take 
those liberties elsewhere.” The lady turned to her husband, 
and said, ‘‘ What is Pyrrhus talking of? He is in a dream, 
surely.”—‘‘ No, madam,” quoth he, ‘I am in no dream. 
What? did you think I could not see you?” Nicostratus 
wondered, and said, ‘‘Surely, Pyrrhus, you are raving.”— 
‘No, sir,” he replied, ‘‘I am very confident I saw you so 
and so together.” Quoth the lady, ‘What can be the 
meaning of this? Were I well enough, I would actually 
go\into the tree myself to behold the strange things that he 
talks of seeing from thence.” Pyrrhus still continued in the 
same story, when Nicostratus desired him to come down, 
and asked him what it was he really saw? Pyrrhus replied, 
“YT thought I saw you billing and cooing, which, though 
innocent enough between husband and wife, should never 
be practised in public.”—“t The man is out of his wits,” 
quoth Nicostratus; ‘we neither of us so much as stirred 
from the place where we were. sitting.”—‘‘Then,” said 
Pyrrhus, ‘‘I tell you I saw it.” Nicostratus was now more 
and more surprised, and said, “I will see whether this tree 
be enchanted or not:” and as he was mounting up into the 
tree, Pyrrhus and the lady became very loving. Nicostratus, 
seeing this, began to call out, “‘Oh! thou vile woman! what 
art thou doing there? and that rascal, Pyrrhus, in whom | 
put all my confidence?” And, with these words, he made 
all possible haste down, when the lady and Pyrrhus both 
said, ‘‘ We were sitting here all the time just as you left us” 
—However, he seemed to be in a violent passion, whilst 
Pyrrhus said to him, ‘ Now, sir, I am convinced that I saw 
falsely myself, as yours is the same case; for I can be posi- 
tive that you were mistaken. Do but reason with yourself: 
can it be supposed that your lady, who is the most virtuous 
and prudent of all others, should ever attempt to do such a 
thing before your very face? And, for my own part, I would 
be cut limb from limb before I would ever entertain such a 
thought, much less do so in your presence.”——“ The fault, 











THE DECAMERON 


|,in this mistaken appearance must proceed from the 

F for all the world could never have convinced me but 

t I saw you and my lady together in the same manner, 

I had not heard from yourself that we appeared so to 
uu.” On this she said, with a good deal of warmth, “Do 
du think, were I so loosely given, that I should be such a 
y0l as to do these things before your eyes? No, there are 
satire enough, without your being ever the wiser.” 
(tle ong believing at last what they both said, came 
ito a little better temper, and began to talk of the novelty, 
nd wonder at the thing; whilst the lady, who seemed 
oncerned for the ill opinion he had received concerning 
er, added, “ Most certainly, this tree shall never occasion 
ny more scandal either to me or any other woman, if I 


an help it: run, therefore, Pyrrhus, for an axe, and cut it 


lown, in regard to us both; though the axe might be as 
vell employed upon my husband’s weak noddle for believ- 
ng his own eyes in acase so repugnant both to common- 
‘ense and reason.” The axe was then brought and the 
‘ree cut down, upon which she said to Nicostratus, ‘* My 
wrath is over now I see my honour’s adversary thus de- 
molished.” And he having begged her pardon, she freely 
forgave him, charging him for the future never to presume 
such a thing of her, who loved him dearer than her own 
life. Thus the poor deluded husband returned with his 
wife and Pyrrhus into the house, where nothing now pre- 
vented the latter from accomplishing all their wishes. 


| 
| 


NOVEL X 


Two inhabitants of Siena love the same woman, one of whom was goa- 
father to her son. This man dies, and returns, according to hts 
promise, to his friend, and gives him an account of what ts done in 
the other world. 


‘THERE was only the king now left to speak; who, after 
‘quieting the ladies, who were under some concern for the 
cutting down of the pear-tree, began as follows :—It is a 
plain case, that every just prince ought himself to be tied 


SEVENTH DAY 375 Bee 
down by the laws of his own making; and that, if he acts — 
otherwise, he should be punished as a private person: now 
I am forced to fall under this very censure, for yesterday I 
gave you a subject for this day’s discourse, with no design © 
of making use of my privilege, but to conform with the 
rest, and speak to it myself. Whereas, besides taking the 
very story from me which I meant to have given, there 
_has been such a variety of incidents related to the same 
effect, and well told, that I can think of nothing myself 
worth troubling you with, afterthem. Therefore,as lam  — 
under the necessity of transgressing against my own law, J 
submit to any punishment you shall pleasetoinflictupon me. 
So, having recourse to my privilege at last, I shall relatea 
short novel; which, though it contains somethings which we 
are not to credit, may not be disagreeable for youto hear. 

There were, some time since, two young men of Siena, 
the one named Tingoccio Mini, and the other Meuccio di 
Tura, who dwelt in the Porta Solaia, and were very inti- 
mate. They used, therefore, to go to church together,  __ 
when hearing much of the pleasures and pains of a future 
state, and being desirous of knowing something more 
certain on that head, they promised each other, that 
whichever died first should return, if it was possible, tc 
inform his friend. In the meantime, they happened both 
to fall in love with the lady of Ambruogio Anselmini, = 
This, how great soever their friendship was, they kept from 
each other, though for different reasons. Tingoccio had 
been godfather to one of her children; and being in a 
measure ashamed of such gallantry, he concealed it from 
his friend. On the other part, Meuccio kept his love a 
secret, because he knew the other liked her as well as 
himself. At length Tingoccio, as he had more oppor- 
tunities than his friend, happened to succeed. This was 
a great mortification to Meuccio, who still lived in hopes 
of gaining his point some time or other; and seemed, 
therefore, to know nothing of the matter, lest Tingoccio 
should thwart his designs. Some time after this, Tin- 
goccio was taken ill, and died: and the third night after- 
wards, he came into Meuccio’s chamber, who was fast 
asleep, and called aloud to him. Meuccio awoke, and said 











376 THE DECAMERON 


“What art thou?” He replied, I am thy friend Tin- 
goecio, who am come, according to our agreement, to bring 
hee tidings of the other world.” Meuccio was consider- 
ably terrified at this, but taking courage at last, he said, 
‘Thou art welcome.” And then he asked him whether 
he-was a lost person? Tingoccio made answer, “ Those 
things only are lost which cannot be found; and if that 
was my case, how should I be here?”—‘‘ I mean not so,” 
quoth Meuccio ; “but what I ask is, whether you be one 
pf the damned ?”—*‘ Not so,” said he; ‘‘but yet I suffer 
sreat pains for some sins which I committed.” He 
hen inquired what punishment was inflicted for every 
‘ingle sin; and Tingoccio resolved him fully in each 
particular. Asking him further, if he could do him any 
jervice here, Tingoccio answered, “Yes; namely, by say- 
ng prayers and masses, and giving alms: for those things 
we of great benefit to the deceased.” This Meuccio pro- 
hised to do; and as the ghost was offering to depart, he 
aised himself up, and said, :‘*I remember, my friend, that 
ow had an affair with such a lady: pray what’ is done to 
ou on that account ?”—“ Oh, brother,” he replied, “when 
first arrived in the other world, I met with a ghost who 
ethied to have all my sins by heart, and who ordered me 
> go into a certain place, where I was to do penance for 
nem, and where I found a great many people who were 
ent thither upon the same score. And being among them, 
nd calling to mind that particular crime you now mention, 
r which I expected some very great punishment, I was all 
ver in a tremble, although in the midst of a great fire. 
‘hen one that stood by me said, ‘Pray, what hast thou 
he more than any one else, that thou quakest to this 
bgree in so hot a place ?’-— Alas!’ I replied, ‘I had 
: do with my godson’s rmother.’—‘Go, thou fool,’ said 
», ‘is there any relationship in that, to make the crime 
orse?’ This gave me some comfort. ” Afterwards, it 
sing near daybreak, he said to his friend, ‘‘ Farewell, for 
can stay no longer with you;” so vanished out of the 
im. Thus Meuccio was convinced that that sort of 
-ndred was of no consequence, and was less scrupulous 
ian he used to be in such cases for the time to come. 


| 











SEVENTH DAY 377 


The west wind began now to breathe, as the sun grew 
near his setting; when the king, having concluded his 
novel, arose, and taking the crown from his own head, 
placed it upon Lauretta’s, saying, ‘‘ Madam, I crown you 
with your own crown, as queen of this company; do you, 
as such, command what you think will be most agreeable 
to us all.” Lauretta, being now queen, sent to the master 
of the household, and ordered him to have the cloth laid 
in the pleasant valley sooner than usual, that they might 
return afterwards with more ease to the palace. Then 
directing what she would further have done, she turned to 
the company, and said, “It was Dioneus’s will, yesterday, 
that our novels should be concerning the devices and tricks 
which women put upon their husbands; and was it not 
that you would think I had malice in my heart, my subject 
for to-morrow should be the manner of men’s imposing 
upon their wives. But setting this aside, let every one 
think of the stratagems which. are in daily practice of the 
women to the men, or of the men to the women; or, lastly, 
of one man to another; and this, I think, will afford as 
agreeable matter for discourse. as what we have had to-day.” 
Here she gave them their liberty till supper-time. The 
company then arose, and whilst some went to wash their 
feet in the cool stream, others took a walk upon-the green 
turf, under the cover of the spreading trees, and Dioneus 
and Flammetta sat singing together the song of Palamon 
and Arcite. Thus all were agreeably employed till supper ; 
when the tables being set forth by the side of the basin, 
they sat down to the music of a thousand birds, and their 
faces fanned all the time with cool, refreshing breezes, 
coming from the little hills around them, they supped with 
the utmost mirth and satisfaction. Taking a walk after- 
wards round the valley, before the sun was quite set, they 
began their march back to the palace, talking all the way of 
a thousand different things, which had either occurred in 
this day’s discourse, or the preceding, and arrived there as 
it grew dark. Refreshing themselves after their walk with 
wine and sweetmeats, they indulged in a dance by the side 
of the fountain; sometimes, for variety, to the sound of 
Tindarus’s bagpipe, and sometimes to other more musical 


378 THE DECAMERON 


instruments. At length the queen called wii Philomena 
for a song, who thus obeyed :— 


SONG 


I 


Such my desire to meet my love, 
That I with eager transport fly3 
But why your long unkind delay? 
Tell me, my swain, O tell me why. > 


A 
The joys T from your converse feel 
No pow’r of language can express ; 


Whilst your commanding smiles and voice 
Conspire with mutual aid to bless. 


III 


Say then, my life ! when shall we meet, 
And former vows of love renew? 

Soon come the time, be long your stay 3 
For all my wishes point to you, 


IV 


I'll hold you fast, when fortune thus 
Auspicious crowns my fond desires 3 

Then haste, fly quick to my embrace ; 
That pleasing hope my song inspires, 


This song made them all conclude that Philomena was 
subject to the little. god; and, by her manner of expressing 
herself, her passion seemed to be in a fair and prosperous 
way: but when it was ended, the queen, remembering that 
the next day. was a fast, said, ‘‘Gentlemen and ladies, I 
must let you know, that to-morrow, being Friday, it is to 
be observed as holy; for you may remember, that when 
Neiphile was queen, we waived our diversions on that day, 
and so wefdid on Saturday. Therefore I think it proper 
to follow so laudable an example, and to: dedicate those 
two days to our devotions.” | This was agreeable to the 
whole company; and a good part of the night being now 
spent, she dismissed them,’ and they retired to their re- 
spective chambers. . . 


THE EIGHTH, DAY 


THE rays of the rising sun began now to gild the tops of 
the highest mountains, and the shade of the night was 
withdrawn from the earth, when the queen and all her 
company. arose on Sunday morning, and, after taking a 
pleasant walk along the meadows, they went, about the 
third hour, to a neighbouring chapel, where they heard 
Divine service. Returning to the house, and dining cheer- 
fully, they afterwards began to sing and dance as usual: 
when leave was given to such as wished to repose them- 
selves. After the sun had passed the meridian, they all 
met again by the fountain-side, and being seated, Neiphile, 
by the queen’s command, thus commenced :— 


NOVEL I 


Gulfardo borrows a sum of money of Guasparruolo, in order to give it 
his wife for granting him a favour; he afterwards tells Guas- 
parruolo, whilst she was present, that he kad paid it to her, which 


she acknowledges to be true, 


SEEING it is my fortune to begin to-day with a novel, I 
am content to obey: and, as we have heard much of the 
women overreaching the men, I have a mind to tell you of 
a man’s being too cunning for a woman: not that I mean 
to blame him for it, or to say that she was not rightly 
served. No, I rather commend him, and think she met 
with no more than her due. Ido it-also to show that the 
men know how to deceive us upon occasion, as well as we 
do to impose upon them : though, to speak more properly, 
this cannot be called deceiving, so much as making a 
deserved return; for a woman ought to be virtuous and 
chaste, and to hold her honour as dear as her life: and 
370 by 


380 THE DECAMERON 


though our frailty is such that we cannot always be upon 
our guard, yet I think that woman ought to be burned who 
makes a trade of love. But where the little god takes 
the field, whose force you know is very great, some grains 
of allowance should be made, as was shown a few days 
since by Philostratus, in the story of Madam Philippi di 
Prato. 

There lived at Milan a soldier, who was a German, and 
his name was Gulfardo; one of a good person, and very 
trusty to such as retained him in their service, as the 
Germans generally are; and, because he was always very 
punctual in his payments, he found a great many mer- 
chants ready at any time to lend him any sum, for a very 
small profit. Nowhe had placed his affections on a lady 
called Ambruogia, wife to a certain rich merchant, named 
Guasparruolo, who was his old friend and acquaintance. 
Conducting this affair with such caution that neither the 
husband nor any one else had the least suspicion about it, 
he took an opportunity one day of declaring his mind to 
her, when she promised to comply upon two conditions ; 
first, that it should be kept secret; and, secondly, as she 
had occasion for two hundred florins of gold, that he 
should supply her with that sum. Gulfardo was so pro- 
voked at this sordidness, that his love was changed into 
rage and contempt; and he resolved, therefore, to put a 
trick upon her. Accordingly he let her know that he was 
ready at all times to do that or anything else which she 
desired, and that she should send him word when she 
would have him wait upon her with the money, promising 
to bring only one friend, in whom he put entire con- 
fidence, and who was his companion on all occasions. 
She was content, giving him to understand that her hus- 
band was to set out in a few days for Genoa, and that, as 
soon as he was gone, she would take care to send for him. 
In the meantime, Gulfardo went to Guasparruolo, and 
said, “Sir, I have an affair of consequence upon my hands, 
which requires me to raise two hundred florins of gold; 
if you will advance that sum, I will allow you the utmost 
gratuity.” Guasparruolo readily agreed to it, and told 
him out the money. In a few days after he set out for 


EIGHTH DAY 381 


Genoa, as the lady had said, who immediately sent word 
to Gulfardo to come, and bring the two hundred florins. 
Obedient to the command, he took his friend along with 
him, and went to her house, when the first thing he did 
was to give her the money before this person, saying, 
‘Madam, you will keep this, and give it to your husband 
when he returns.” She received it, never thinking why 
he spoke to her in that manner, but supposing it was 
because he would have his friend to know nothing of 
the matter, and replied, “I will; but first let me see 
what money there is.” So she turned it out upon the 
table, and found there were just two hundred florins ; 
when, locking it up with a secret satisfaction, she came 
and showed him into the chamber. And he continued 
his visits to her during her husband’s absence at Genoa. 
On his return, he went again to the house, and finding 
him with her, he said in her hearing, ‘‘Sir, the money you 
were so kind as to lend me was of no service, because 
I could not compass the thing on the account of which 
I borrowed it: therefore I brought it back immediately to 
your wife. Please then to cancel my account.” Guaspar- 
ruolo turned to her, and inquired whether she had received 
the money? She, seeing the witness present, and not 
knowing how to deny it, said, ‘‘ Yes, I received it, and 
forgot to tell you.”—“ Then,” he replied, ‘I am satisfied ; 
farewell—your account is clear.” Gulfardo withdrew, well 
pleased, leaving the lady full of indignation, defeated and 
despised. . 


NOVEL II 


The parson of Varlungo receives favours from a woman of his parish, 
and leaves his cloak in pawn for them. He afterwards borrows a 
mortar of her, which he returns, and demands his cloak, which he 
says he left only as @ token. She mutinies, but is forced by her 
husband to send it. 


Wuery all thought that Gulfardo had served the sordid 
Milanese lady very justly, when the queen turned with a 
smile towards Pamphilus, and desired him to follow :— 

I mean, said he, to relate a short story, touching those 
*people who are continually doing us injuries, without our 


382 THE DECAMERON 


being able to come at them, in the same manner at least 
as we are affected; I mean the priests, who set up their 
standard, and publishing a general crusade against our 
wives, thinking, when once they bring any of them under 
their subjection, that they have done as meritorious an 
action as if they led the sultan captive from’ Alexan- 
dria to Avignon. Now we of the laity cannot return the 
like to them, though we should do well to revenge what is 
done to our wives, with as good a will, upon their mothers, 
sisters, and other relations. » I will tell you, therefore, of a 
country amour, more diverting, in the conclusion especi- 
ally, than long; by which you may reap the benefit of 
learning that those people are not always to be regarded. 
At Varlungo, a village not far from this place, lived a 
young healthful priest, who, though not very expert at 
reading, yet was he used to hold forth under an elm-tree 
every Sunday, regaling the people there with many good 
and holy discourses. And as to the women, no priest 
ever gave them better attendance, for he was daily carrying 
them presents of cake, holy-water, and candle ends, when 
he would also give them his blessing. Among all his 
parishioners, none pleased him so wellas a good woman, 
called Belcolore, wife to a certain labourer, whose name 
was Bentivegna del Mazzo: she, in truth, was a tight, 
handsome, brown woman, and could sing, and play upon 
the virginals, or lead up a dance as well as any lass in the 
country; so that our priest was almost out of his wits 
about her. All day long would he go sauntering about 
to get a sight of her, and on Sunday, when she was at 
prayers, he would quaver out his Kyries and his Sanctuses, 
like an ass that was braying, to let her see that he was 
a master of music; but if she happened not to be there, 
he made no such stir; and yet he managed so, that neither 
the husband nor any of the neighbours perceivedit. The 
better to gain her favour, he was every now and then 
sending her presents: one day a bunch of leeks, thg 
finest in the country, out of his own garden, tilled with his 
own hands; another time a basket of peas, and onions 
or scallions, as the season served. And, when he saw an 
opportunity, he would give her a glance or two from thg 


EIGHTH DAY 383 


corner of his eye, whilst she seemed all the time not to 
take his meaning ; so’ that, hitherto, it was all labour lost. 
Now one day it happened, as he was idling about, that ‘he 
met the husband, who was driving an ass laden before 
him, when he accosted him, and asked whither he was 
going?’ “Why truly, father,” he replied, “I am: going 
about some business to the city, and I carry these things 
aS a present to Signor Bonacorri da Ginestreto, for him to 
enter an appearance for me, and to stand my friend in a 
cause that I have before the judge.” The priest seemed 
pleased, and said, “Son, you are in the right: go, you 
have my blessing, and make haste home; and if. you 
should see Lapuccio or Naldino, do not. forget to tell 
them to bring home my leathern’ straps.” The honest 
man promised to take care of his errand, and so went on 
.owards Florence, whilst the priest thought this a fit oppor- 
tunity to go to the wife, to try what he could do with her. 
Accordingly, he made no stop till he came hither, and 
entering into the house, he called out, God bless you ali 
here; who is within?” SBelcolore was gone upstairs, and 
when she heard him, she said, “You are welcome, sir; 
but what are you doing abroad in the very heat of the day ?” 
The priest replied, ‘‘ Iam come to spend. a little time with 
you, finding that your husband is gone to the city.” 

She then came and'sat down, and began to pick some 
cole-seed, which. her’ husband. had: just “been threshing, 
when he saidy ‘Ah, Belcolore! must I always die: for 


you in this manner?” She laughed, and replied, ‘‘ Pray . 


what harm have I done you ?”—‘ You have done nothing 
to me,” answered he, “‘ but you will not’suffer me to press 
you.”—""Go, go,” quoth she, ‘what! do priests then mind 
such things?”——‘‘ Why not,” quoth he, ‘‘as well as other 
people? ”—“ Well, ‘but what will you give me?” said she, 
‘for J know you are all as covetous as the devil.”—‘ Why, 
ask what you will,” he replied, ‘a pair of shoes, or a top- 
eer: or a girdle, or anything else that you like.”?— 
‘‘Father,” answered she, “I want none of: those things, 
but if you love me as you say, do one thing for me, and 
I will consent.”——“ Say what it is,’ quoth the priest, ‘and 
lg assured I will do it most willingly.”—-“ On Saturday, 


Th 84 THE DECAMERON 


then,” she said, “I must go to Florence to carry some 
yarn home, which I have spun, and to get my wheel 
mended, and if you will lend me five pounds, which I 
_know you have, I can redeem from the broker my best 
_gown and petticoat which I have been forced to pawn, 
_and for want of which I am not able to appear upon any 
Saint's day, and you will then find me always ready to oblige 
_ you.”—‘‘As I hope for a good harvest,” quoth the priest, 
\ “TI have not so much about me, but I will take care you 
shall have it before that time.”—‘I.know you all,” she 
replied, ““to be good promisers, and that you never think 
_ of performing what you say. No, I will make no such 
bargains. If you have not the money in your pocket, 
go and fetch it.”’—‘ Alas!” quoth the priest, ‘ never 
send me home at this time; you see there is nobody 
here now, perhaps when I return there may; so that 
we can never have a better opportunity.”—‘“ Very well,” 
said she, “you know my. resolution, either bring the 
money or else go about your business.” The: priest, per- 
ceiving that her intention was not to comply without a 
salvum me fac, whereas he was for having it sine custodtia, 
said, ‘‘Seeing you will not take my word, behold I leave 
you this cloak as a pledge.”—‘‘ The cloak!” quoth she; 
“pray what is it worth?” — “Worth!” answered the 
priest; “I would have you to know that it is made of 
a fine serge; nay, there are some of our people that call 
it a broad cloth; I bought it fifteen days ago only, of 
Otto, the fripperer, and it cost me seven pounds; and 
Bugglietto tells me, whom you will allow to be a judge, 
that I got five shillings at least by the bargain. MW Ay | 
did it stand you in so much?” said she; ‘I could never 
have thought it; but give it me first.” He obeyed, and 
was afterwards forced to slink home in his cassock, when 
he began to repent of what he had done; and, considering 
with himself that all his vails and offerings for the whole 
year would not amount to five pounds, he was contrivgag 
how to get it back for nothing, when he thought of the 
following stratagem. The next day, being holiday, he 
sent a boy to her house, desiring her to lend him a stone 
mortar, adding that he had two neighbours to dine with 





\ 





EIGHTH DAY 385 


him, #00 »o- intended to make them some green sauce. 
This $he sent; and about dinner time, when he expected 
that she sod her husband would be set down together, he 
called »'s clerk and said, ‘‘ Do.you go and take this mortar 
to Belco'ore, telling her that your master gives her many 
thanks, arc desires she would send the cloak which he left 


by way of token.” The clerk carried the mortar and found 
them at table, having just dined, when he delivered his 
message. She, hearing him demand the cloak, was going 
to make a reply, but the husband put on an angry look 
and said, “‘How came you to,take any token from our 
priest? I have a good mind to box your ears for so doing. 
Return it, 1 say, directly, and let him want what he will of 
ours, I charge you never to say him nay.” Upon this she 
went grumbling to the press for it, and giving it to the 
clerk she said: ‘‘ Tell your master, the priest, that I say he 
must expect no more favours from me.” The clerk de- 
livered it with those very words, upon which the priest 
laughed, and said, ‘‘When you see her, you may tell her 
that I desire none at any such rate.” Now the husband 
imagined that she had spoken in that manner because he 
had just been quarrelling with her, for which reason he was 
under no concern about it. But she continued so pro- 
voked that she would never speak to the priest from 
that time till. the time of the vintage, when, after she had 
long threatened to send him to the devil, he found means 
to pacify her at last with some new wine and chestnuts; 
and, instead of the five pounds, he tuned her virginals for 
her ‘and made her a song, which so contented her that they 
became as good friends as ever. 


NOVEL III 


Calandrino, Bruno, and Buffalmacco go to Mugnone to look for the 
fleliotrope ; and Calandrino returns laden with stones, supposing 
that he had found tt. Upon this his wife scolds him, and he beats 

® her for it; and then tells his companions what. thev knew better 
than himself. 

THE ladies laughed immoderately at Pamphilus’s novel, when 

the queen turned to Eliza, who began in this manner :— 

@ do not know whether I shall be able to divert you as 


N 


386 _ THE DECAMERON 


much with my short novel, though it be true’ as well as 
comical: but yet I will try. 

In our city, abounding always: with people of different 
tempers and nations,'there:dwelt not long sincé a painter 
called Calandrino, a simple sort of man and one that: dealt 
much in novelties; he was often in company with two of 
the same profession, the one named Bruno and the ‘other 
Buffalmacco, both facetious, merry persons, though other- 
wise subtle enough; and they liked to be with this man 
on account of his oddities. There lived also in the same 
city the most agreeable and artful young man in everything 
he undertook that could be; called Maso del Saggio, who, 
hearing much of Calandrino’s simplicity, wanted to divert 
himself at his expense by imposing some monstrous story 
upon him, as a thing very strange and uncommon. And 
finding him by chance one day in St. John’s-Church, and 
observing him very attentive in looking on the carved work 
and painting of the: Tabernacle, which was just put over 
the high altar, he thought he had now such an opportunity 
as he wanted: and acquainting one of his friends with it, 
they came near to the place where he was sitting by him- 
self, and pretending not to see him, began to’ reason 
together upon the virtues of different stones, whilst Maso 
seemed to talk as well upon the subject as though he had 
been a professional lapidary./ Calandrino soon began’ to 
listen to this, and finding they had no particular business 
he got up and joined them. This was what the other 
wanted; and as he was. going on with his discourse, 
Calandrino asked him: where these stones were to ‘be 
found? Maso replied, ‘‘The greatest part are to ‘be’ met 
with in Berlinzone, near the city’of Baschi, in a country 
called Bengodi, where they tie the vines with sausages, 
and you may buy a goose for a penny and have the 
Sapa into the bargain ; where there is also a fountain 
of grated Parmesan cheese, and the people that are upon 
it do nothing else but make cheese-cakes and mackaro 
which they boil in capon-broth, and keep constantly throw- 
ing down from thence, when those that can catch most 
have most: and there isa river too of the best Malmsey 
wine that ever was tasted, without one drop of wategy’ 4 





EIGHTH DAY 38) 


‘*Surely,” says Calandrino, “that must be a fine country 
indeed! what becomes of the capons after they are 
boiled?” “Oh,” quoth the other, “the people there eat 
them.” ‘‘Then,” said Calandrino, “was you ever there?” 
Maso replied, ‘‘ Was*I ever there, do you say? If I have 
been there once I have been a thousand times.” Quoth 
Calandrino, ‘And: how many miles is it off?” He replied, 
‘Many thousands.” ‘ Then,” said Calandrino, ‘is’ it 
farther off than the Abruzzi?” “But a trifle,” said the 
other... Whilst’ Calandrino, observing that he had told all 
this whole tale without changing countenance or so much 
as a smile, held it all for truth; and’ he added, “ Believe 
me, sir, the journey is too great, or else I should like ‘to 
go and scramble for those matktroons. \ But are none of 
the precious stones you are speaking of in that country?” 
Maso replied, ‘Two there are which are found to be of 
great virtue: one of these, which comes from Montisci, 
they make into mill-stones, which will produce flour of 
themselves. Whence they have a saying, 7hat grace comes 
from God and mill-stones from Montisci ; such plenty there , 
is of them, and yet they are as lightly esteemed among us 
as emeralds are there, of which they have whole mountains, 
that shine®gloriously all night long. Now these mill-stones 
they set in rings and send to the Sultan ; who gives them 
in return whatever they ask for them. ‘The other stone is 
what we call the Heliotrope, which renders those that have 
it invisible.” ‘* That,” said Calandrino, “is a rare virtue 


indeed! But where is © © s'one to be found?” Maso 
replied, “It is usually h upon our plains of Mug- 
none.” Quoth the ot! what size.and colour then 
is it?” ~Said Maso, “ are of different sizes, but all 
of a blackish hue.” Co ino took care to remember all 
he had. heard, and pr “ag to have other business, he 
went away with a des ~» © going to seek for this stone; 
but first he had a mr consult his two friends, and he 

tall that mornir: © ©:eking after them. But hearing 
‘at last that they wer’ © work in the monastery at Faenza, 
he ran: thither, and » g them aside he said to them: 
“If you will believe ic, -e have it now in our power to be 


@ richest people i ‘lorence; for I am informed, by a 


388 THE DECAMERON 


very credible person, that there is a stone in Mugnone 
which makes those that carry it about thefa invisible:. 
therefore I wish that we should go and look for it before 
any one else finds it. We shall certainly meet with it, for 
I know it very well; and when we have it, what have we 
else to do but to put it in our pockets, and so-go to the 
bankers’ shops, and carry away what money we please? 
Nobody will see us, and we shall grow rich all at once, 
without spending our whole lives in daubing walls.” » 

Bruno and Buffalmacco were fit to burst with laughter, 
yet they looked at each other with a kind of surprise, 
and highly commended their friend’s wisdom. When 
Buffalmacco asked what the name of it was, Calandrino, 
having no great memory, had forgot that; therefore he 
said, ‘‘What have we to do with names, so long as we 
know the virtues? I think we should go look for it 
immediately.” ‘*Then,” quoth Bruno, “what sort of stone 
is it?” ‘They are of all sizes,” he replied, ‘but gene- 
rally black ; therefore I am of opinion that we should pick 
up all the black stones we see, till we meet with the true 
one: so let us lose no time.” 

“Very right,” quoth Bruno, “you talk mighty well; but 
yet I do not think this is a fit time, for the sun is now very 
hot, and shines forth with such lustre, that those stones 
May appear whitish at present, which are black in a 
morning: besides, many people are now abroad, who 
seeing us employed in that manner, may gu at our 
business, and perhaps get the stone before ie aad we 
lose all our labour. So that we had better go about it 
in the morning, when we.can more clearly distinguish 
colours; and on a holiday, because there will be nobody 
to see us.”” They agreed to go out then on Sunday 
morning; and in the meantime he desired they would 
speak of it to no one, because it had been told him as a 
secret. He afterwards let them know what he had heard of 
the country of Bengodi, swearing that every word was tyf™igh. 

As soon as he was gone, they agreed, between them- 
selves, what to do; whilst he\'was very impatient. till 
Sunday came, when he arose by daybreak, and called upon 
them; and going through St. Gallo’s Gate, they went ifffto 

; 5 






EIGHTH DAY 389. 


the plains of Mugnone, and began to look for this stone. 
Now Calan«rino stole along before the other two, skipping 
from’ one place to another, where he saw anything of a 
black stone, and put them all into his pockets. And 
whilst his companions were picking up here and there 
one, he had filled his pockets, bosom, and coat-skirts, 
which he had tucked up for that purpose with his belt. 
On this, they seeing him laden, and it being now dinner- 
time, one said to the other, ‘‘Where is Calandrino?” TI 
do not know,” quoth the other, “but he was here just 
now.” ‘* Then,” said the first, ‘I suppose he is. gone home 
to his dinner, and has left us here upon a fool’s errand.” 
“We are rightly served,” replied the other, ‘‘for being so 


weak as to believe him. Who but ourselves could ever _ 


have thought of finding such sort of stones here?” 
Calandrino, hearing what passed between them, took it 
for granted that he had the true stone, and so was in- 
visible: and being over and above rejoiced, he_resolved 
to go home without speaking a word, leaving them to 


follow if they would. Buffalmacco perceiving his intent, , 
said to Bruno, ‘What must we do? Why do not we go/ 


lik wise?” Bruno replied, “What should we stay any 
lonzer for? But I vow and protest he shall put no more 
tric ©: “pon me; and was he as near to me now as he has 
be«n #!! this morning, I would give him such a knock on 
the bee. with this pebble, that he should have cause to 
rec ober it;” and as he was speaking the words, he hit 
him a: 
h 
1 
h 
P 
v 
3 
I 


7 


_ stroke which made him jump again; yet Calandrino 
“is peace, and got along as fast as he could. Buffal- 
© ten taking another stone, said, “‘ And I would give 
» blow over the back with this ;” and so they kept 
og im all the way, even to the gate of St. Gallo, 
throwing the rest of their stones down, they let the 
‘nto the secret, who humoured the thing, and let 
98, as if they had not seen him. So he went on, 
out « slopping to his own house, which was near to the 
. » end fortune was so favourable to this jest of theirs, 
hat no od) said a word to him all through the city; and 
deec he saw but few persons, because they were mostly 
“> aner. Coming thus laden home, he met his wife 


\ 


| 


390 THE DECAMERON 


at the top of the stairs, who, being provoked at his long 
stay, fell upon him in a violent manner, saying, “The 
devil sure has possessed the man, that he will never come 
home till everybody has dined.” Which when he heard, 
and being sensible that he was now seen, he began, full of 
wrath and vexation, to say, ‘Oh! thou wicked woman, art 
thou there? “Thou hast undone me; but I will, be 
revenged on thee for it.” And throwing down all his 
stones, he ran violently at her, and beat her most: unmerci- 
fully. | In the meantime his two friends after they had 
laughed a little with the guards at the gate, followed him 
at a distance to his house; and being at the door, heard 
him beating his) wife: and seeming as if they were just 
come there, they called aloud to him, whilst he, all in a ° 
heat, and weary, looked out of the window, and ‘desired 
them to come up: this they did, seemingly much’ out of 
temper, and seeing the stairs covered with stones, and she 
beaten and bruised in one corner of the room, and he in 
another, all unbuttoned, and like a man quite spent, they 
said, ‘‘Why, how now, Calandrino! What are you going 
to build, that you make all this preparation? And you, 
madam, how comes it to pass that you are so. mis- 
used?” But he, quite fatigued, and vexed also for his 
supposed loss, was able to make them no answer. On 
which Buffalmacco said again, ‘‘Calandrino, if you were 
angry with any other person, you ought not to have made a 
jest of us, as you have done, in leaving us yonderylike a 
couple of fools; where you carried us to -seek for a 
precious stone, and then went away without saying a 
word: but assure yourself, you shall serve us so né more.” 
He replied, after much ‘ado, ‘‘ My friends, do not be in a 
passion ; the case is different from what you imagine. In- 
deed I found the stone ; and, observe, I pray, whetherjit was 
not so. When you inquired after me the first time, I was 
then close to you; and as you were coming away without 
seeing me, I then walked before you ;” and relating ony. 
thing that they had said and done upon it, he added, 
“ And as IL was coming through the gate, laden with these 
stones, the guards, though they examine every one, let ¢ 












pass unmolested: besides, I met with divers of my frie 


EIGHTH DAY 391 


in the street, who are continually teasing me to go in and 
drink with them, but not one of them said a word, because 
they-never saw me. At last, when, I came home, I met 
with this devil of a woman here, who straightway saw me, | 
because women, you know, make everything lose.its virtue,_, 

and so 1, who was on the point of being the happiest man 
in Florence, am now the most unfortunate; and it was 
upon that account that I beat her, and I could tear her 
to pieces for it:” and he was going to beat her over again: 

whilst they, seeing, all this, seemed to wonder very much, 
and began to affirm the same thing, though they were fit 
to die with laughing. But when he was going to beat her 
a second time, they interposed, telling him, that she was 
not to blame in the case, for that he should have given her 
notice'to keep out of the way all that day; and that this 
was owing either to his ill fortune, or élse it was a judg- 
ment upon him for deceiving his friends ; ‘for after he knew 
that he had found the stone, he ought to have told them of 
it. At last, with great difficulty, they reconciled them, and 
leaving him yet much out of sorts, and with his house full 
of stones, departed. 


NOVEL IV 


The provost of the church of Fiesole is in love with a lady nig: has 
no liking to him; and he, thinking that he is with her, ts all the 
time. with her maid, when her brothers bring the "SG thither 
to witness it. 


Eiza’s novel was ended, when the queen, without delay, 
turneg to Emilia, who began in this manner :— 

It will appear from our preceding novels, that the priests, 
friars, and the rest of the clergy, have contributed their full 
share to our diversion: but as so much can hardly be said, 
but something may be added, I shall, therefore, tell you a 
story of a certain provost, who had a mind to make a lady 
love’ him, whether she would or not, and who. accordingly 
trestec. yim as he deserved. 

‘e, the summit whereof you may descry from this 
‘as once a great and ancient city, and, though now 
in, oo os, had always its bishop, and so it has still. Adjoin- 


392 THE DECAMERON 


ing to the cathedral, in a little house of ‘her own, lived a 
certain widow lady for the greatest part of the year, and 
along with her two of her brothers, both very worthy gentle- 
men. Now, as she went constantly to church, it happened 
that the provost fell so much in love with her, that he was 
never easy but in her company; and in length of time he 
had the assurance to speak to her, entreating the’ same 
kind and tender regard for him. This provost, it is true, 
was something ancient, but yet of a juvenile disposition: 
he was so proud also and haughty, and did everything with 
so ill a grace, that he was disagreeable to all the world. 
This lady in particular had an utter aversion to him; 
wherefore, she very prudently replied, “Sir, I am much 
obliged to you for your gracious offer, but we should have 
regard to both our characters in this case. You are my 
spiritual father, a priest also, and in years; all which con- 
siderations should inspire you with different sentiments: 
on the other part, I am past a child, being, as you see, in 
my widowhood, and, therefore, more discretion will be 
expected from me; for which reason I must beg © your 
pardon, resolving to have nothing to ue with you in the 
affair you mention.” 

The provost, no way dismayed with one denial, ceased 
not his solicitations, as well by letters as word of mouth, 
every time he saw her at church, till she, growing weary of 
his impertinence, resolved to rid herself of him in such a 
manner as he deserved, since she saw there was no other 
way ; but yet she would do nothing without first consulting 
her brothers; when letting them know his design upon her, 
and what she meant to do, and having. free leave from 
them, she went in a few days to church as usual. When 
he saw her come, he went familiarly to meet her, and she 
received him with an open countenance, retired purposely 
apart with him, and fetching a deep sigh, said, “I have 
often heard, sir, that there is no fort so strong but what it 
may be taken, which I now find to be my own case, for you 
have so beset me with complaisance and love, that I have 
been forced to break my resolution, and am now disposed 
to be at your service.” He replied, with a great deal of 
joy, “ Madam, I hold myself much obliged to you, and, to 


EIGHTH DAY 393 


tell you the truth, I have often wondered how you could 
hold out so long, especially as I never met with anything 
like it before. Nay, I have said, that if women were made 
of silver, they would not be worth one farthing, because 
there is none of them would be able to stand the test. 
But tell me, when can we be together?” She replied, 
“Sweet sir, it may be whenever you please, as I have no 
husband to inquire after me at nights; but I cannot think 
of a place.”’—‘ How so?” he replied ; ‘‘ why not in your 
own house?” She made answer, “Sir, you know I have 
two brothers, who have company most evenings, and our 
house is very small, so that it is impossible for you to come 
there, unless you could submit to be like a dumb person, 
and in the dark also; if you will consent to that, it may be 
done, because they never come into my chamber; but yet 
theirs is so near to mine, that the least whisper is heard.” 
—‘‘Madam,” quoth he, ‘never mind it for one or two 
nights, till I can think of some more convenient place.” 
‘She replied, “Sir, that is just as you please ; but I beg of 
you that it may be a secret.”—‘‘ Madam,” said he, “‘ make 
no doubt of that ; but, if possible, let it be this evening.”— 
‘With all my heart,” said she; and directing him how and 
‘when he was to come, she left him and went home. Now 
she had a maid not over young, and the most ugly creature 
that ever was born; for she had a flat nose, wry mouth, 
great thick lips, black rotten teeth, sore eyes, with a com- 
plexion green and yellow, like a Mulatto; besides all this, 
she was both lame and crooked, and her name was Giuta, 
but, having such a miserable countenance of her own, she 
was called, by way of derision, Ciutazza (z.e., Trull); nor 
was her temper one jot more amiable than her person. 
She called this maid to her, therefore, and said, .‘‘ Ciutazza, 
if thou wilt do a little job for me, I will give thee a new 
gown.”—‘‘ Madam,” quoth she, “give it me, and I will go 
through fire and water to serve you.”—‘I mean,” said the 
lady, ‘to have thee sleep with a man this very night in my 
bed ; but be sure you do not speak a word, for fear my 
brothers should hear thee in the next room; and in the 
morning thou shalt have it.”——“‘ To oblige you, madam,” 
she replied, ‘I would sleep with half-a-dozen.” So in the 
N 2 


394 THE DECAMERON 


evening the provost came, according to their ugreement 
whilst the lady's brothers were in their own room, as shc 
had directed, where they took care that he should hear 
them; and the provost went silently into her chamber in 
the dark, as did also Ciutazza, and to bed they went. As 
soon as this was done she told her brothers, and left them 
to do the rest, as they had before resolved. Accordingly 
they went secretly to the piazza, when fortune was more 
favourable to their design than they could have expected, 
for they met the bishop coming to their house to:pay them 
a visit. And he having told them his intention, they 
turned back with him, and showed him into a court, as it 
was in the summer; and after they had lighted up the 
candles, and were seated together to a glass of wine, one 
of the young gentlemen said, “ My lord, since you are so 
kind to do us this favour of your. own accord, as we were 
going to invite you, we desire you would please to see a 
curiosity which we have ready to show you.” The bishop 
consented, and one of them, taking a candle, led the way 
into the chamber where the provost and Ciutazza were in 
bed, when they found them asleep in each other’s arms. 
The provost awoke upon this, ashamed and frightened to 
death, and hid his head under the bed-clothes, whilst the’ 
bishop rallied him severely, and made him put his head 
out, that he might see whom he had got in bed with him. 
When he, finding how the lady had served him, and being 
sensible of the utter shame he had incurred, was'the most 
miserable man alive. And having put on his clothes again, 
by the bishop’s order, he was sent under a guard to his 
own house, to undergo a penance equal to his crime. The 
bishop then desired to know how it happened, and they 
related every particular, on which he highly commended 
both the lady and her brothers, who, rather than imbrue 
their hands in a clergyman’s blood, had dealt with him 
according to his merits, in a different manner. He ordered 
him, therefore, a penance for forty days, but love and 
disdain made him mourn nine days more; and, for a long 
time after, he could never go along the street, but the boys 
would point at him, and say, ‘Yonder is the priest that 
lay with Ciutazza;” which was sucha mortification, that 


EIGHTH DAY 395 


he was almost distracted. Thus the good and prudent lady 
freed herself from the provost’s importunities, and the girl 
obtained her reward. 


NOVEL V_ 


Three young sparks play a trick with a judge, whilst he is Sitting upon 
the bench hearing causes. 


THE baited in Emilia’s novel was highly commended for what 
she had done, when the queen looked towards Philostratus, 
and said, ‘‘It is now your turn to speak.” He conse- 
quently thus began :— 

A young gentleman, mentioned some time since by Eliza, 
viz., Maso del Saggio, makes me pass over a story which I 
meant to have told you, in order to relate one of. him, 
and certain of his friends ; which, though a little unseemly, 
may make you laugh nevertheless, and so I shall venture 
to report. it. 

You must all have heard that we have often had magis- 
trates come hither from the marquisate of Ancona, the 
most paltry people imaginable, and so extremely miserable 
and covetous, that they have brought fellows along with 
them: by way of judges and notaries, who seem to have 
been rather taken from the ploughtail, or out of a cobbler’s 
shop, than the schools of the law. Now there was a 
certain’ person came once as Podesta, and amongst the 
judges that attended him was one Nicola da san Lepidio, 
whose aspect bespoke him rather a tinker than anything 
else, and who was deputed with the rest of the judges 
to hear criminal causes. And as it happens that people 
frequently go to those courts who have no business, so it 
chanced that Maso del Saggio was there in quest of one of 
his friends; and being where this Nicola was sitting, he 
thought him some strange bird that he had never seen 
before, and began to take a more perfect view of him. He 
had a greasy fur cap on, with an ink-horn hanging at his 
girdle, and a gown shorter than his under coat ; but what 
appeared the most comical of all was, that his breeches 
came down to his ankles, and yet they were so scantily 


396 THE DECAMERON 


made, that he could not keep them buttoned, but they 
were constantly open all before. Such a figure as this soon 
made Maso forget what he had come about; and meeting 
with two of his companions, the one named Ribi, and the 
other Matteuzzo, people of as much humour as himself, 
he said to them, ‘‘You will oblige me very much if you 
will go into the court along with me, for I can show you 
the oddest figure perhaps that ever you saw:” so he 
carried them to see the judge and his breeches. As soon 
as they came into the court, they fell a-laughing, and 
observing upon a nearer approach, that the boards on 
which he set his feet were so broken that a man might 
easily put his hand and arm up, he added, “I wish you 
would let us pull his breeches down entirely, for it may 
be easily done.” They saw at once which way he meant, 
and having agreed about it, they came thither again the 
next morning. And the court being crowded with people, 
Matteuzzo crept privately under the bench where the judge 
was sitting, whilst Maso went on one side, and took hold 
of his gown, as Ribi did on the other, and began to cry 
out, ‘‘ For Heaven’s sake, my lord, before this fellow goes 
away, will you order him to restore me a pair of shoes 
which he has stolen from me, and now denies it, though I 
saw him in the fact, and it is not a month since he had 
them new soled?” Ribi, on the other part, bawled aloud, 
“My lord, pray do not believe him, for he is a most 
intolerable villain; and because I came to demand a wallet 
that he had stolen from me, he has trumped up this story 
of his shoes. If you will not believe me, I can bring 
Trecca, my neighbour, and Grassa, the woman that sells 
tripes, and the person that sweeps St. Mary’s Church, who 
saw him as he came out of the country.” But Maso made 
such a clamour on the other side, that he would not let 
Ribi be heard, and Ribi cried out likewise. » 

The judge standing up to hear what each had to say, 
Matteuzzo took that opportunity to put his hand up 
between the boards, and laid hold of his breeches, which 
came down immediately, as he happened to be lean and 
thin about the crupper; whilst he, perceiving what: had 
happened, and not knowing the reason, would have pulled 


EIGHTH DAY 397 


his gown before him to have concealed it, and he en- 
deavoured to sit down again, but Maso held him up on 
one side, and Ribi on the other, crying out, ‘“‘ My lord, 
you do me great injustice not to attend to what I say,-and 
to turn your back upon me, without giving me the hearing 
(for there were no indictments in writing for such trivial 
cases), And they kept him in that manner till all the 
people in the court saw that he had his breeches about his 
heels. In the meantime Matteuzzo had stolen away un- 
discovered ; and Ribi, thinking that he had now done 
enough, said, ‘I will appeal elsewhere for justice, I vow to 
heaven ;” and Maso let go on the other part also, saying, 
“Some time or other I shall find you more at leisure than 
you have been this morning.” Thus they parted different 
ways, and got out of the court as fast as they could. 
Whilst the judge, drawing up his breeches before all the 
people, and being now sensible of the trick that had been 
put upon him, began to inquire where those two men were 
gone that had been complaining to him about their shoes 
and their wallet; and hearing nothing of them, he swore 
that he would know whether it was a custom at Florence 
to pull a judge’s breeches down as he was administering 
justice. The Podesta also was in great rage about it, till 
being told by some of his friends that this was done only 
to let him see the people all took notice, that, instead of 
bringing judges, he had brought some paltry scoundrels 
among them, to make a. better trade of it, he thought it 
best to hold his tongue. Consequently nothing further 
was said about it at that time. 


NOVEL VI 


Bruno and Buffalmacco steal a pig’ from Calandrino, and make a 
charm to find out the thief with pills made of ginger and some 
sack; giving him, at the same time, pills made of aloes: whence tt 
appeared that he had tt himself, and they make him pay hand- 
somely, for fear they should tell his wife. 


PHILOSTRATUS’s novel was no sooner ended, which had 
made them all very merry, but the queen turned to Philo- 
mena, who accordingly began thus :— 

As Philostratus was led to the last story by the mention- 


398 THE DECAMERON 


ing the name of Maso, in like manner has the novel 
concerning Calandrino and his two companions brought 
to my mind another relating to the same persons, which 
will, I think, afford you pleasure. Who those people were 
it would be needless to say, because you had enough of 
that before. Therefore I shall begin with telling you that 
Calandrino had a little farm not far from Florence,,which 
came to him in right of his wife; and, amongst his other 
goods there, he used to have a pig fatted every year, and 
some time in December he and his wife went always to kill 
and salt it for the use of the family. Now it happened 
once, she being unwell at the time, that he went thither 
by himself to kill this pig, which Bruno and Buffalmacco 
hearing, and knowing she was not to:be there, they went 
to see a priest in the neighbourhood, a great friend of his, 
and to be with him for a few days. Now he had killed the 
pig that very day they came thither, and seeing them along 
with the priest, he called them, and said, “You are kindly 
welcome, gentlemen; 1 would gladly have you see what a 
manager I am.” And, taking them into the house, he 
showed them this pig. They saw that it was fat, and were 
told by him that it was to salt for his family. When Bruno 
said, ‘‘Go, you fool you! you had better sell it, for us to 
spend the money, and then tell your wife that it is stolen,” — 
No,” said Calandrino, ‘‘she will never believe it; and 
besides, she would go near to turn me out of doors. 
Trouble me then no further about any such thing, for I 
will never do it.” They said a great deal more to him, but 
all to no purpose; at length he invited them to supper, but 
did it in such a manner that they refused to go; and, after 
he was gone away, said one to the other, ‘Suppose we 
steal this pig from him to-night.”—“ How is it possible? ” 
replied the other.—‘“ Oh,” quoth the first, “I know well 
enough how to do it, if he does not remove it in the mean- 
time from the place where we just now saw it.”——“ Then 
let us do it,” said the second, “and afterwards we and the 
parson will make merry over it.” 

The priest assured them that he should like it of all 
things. ‘We must use a little art,” quoth the first: ‘‘ you 
know how covetous he is, and how freely he drinks always 


EIGHTH DAY 399 


when it is at others’ cost. Let us get him then to the 
tavern, where the parson shall make a pretence of treating 
us all, out of compliment to him ; he will soon get drunk, 
and then the thing will be easy enough, as there is nobody 
in the house but himself.” This they did, whilst he, 
finding that the parson was to pay, took his glasses off 
_ pretty freely, and getting his dose, walked home betimes, 
and left the door open, thinking that it was shut, and so 
went to bed. Buffalmacco and Bruno went from thence 
‘to sup with the priest, and as soon as supper was over, 
they took proper materials with them to get into the 
house; but finding the door open, they carried off the pig, 
and went to bed likewise. Calandrino, as soon as he had 
slept his wine off, arose in the morning, and coming down- 
stairs, and finding the door open, and his pig gone, he 
began to inquire of people if they knew anything of the 
matter, and receiving no tidings of it, he made a terrible 
outcry, saying, “‘What must I do? somebody has stolen 
my pig.” Bruno and Buffalmacco were no sooner out of 
bed, but they went to his house to hear what he would 
say; and the moment he saw them, he roared out, ‘‘Oh, 
my friends, my pig is stolen!” Upon this Bruno 
whispered him, and said, ‘“‘ Well, I am glad to see you 
wise once in your life.”—‘' Alas!” quoth he, “it is too 
true.” Bruno said, “Keep still in the same story, and 
make a noise whilst every one believes you.” He now 
began to baw] louder, and said, “ Indeed! I vow and swear 
to. you that it is stolen.”-—“ Right,” quoth the other, ‘be 
sure you let everybody hear you, that it may appear so.” 
—‘' Do you think,” said he, “that I would forswear myself 
about it? May I be hanged this moment if it is not so.” 
—‘ How is it possible?” quoth Bruno; “I saw it but last 
night; never imagine that I can believe it.”—‘‘It is so, 
however,” answered he, ‘‘and I am undone: I know not 
- how to go home again, for my wife will never believe me, 
and I shall have no peace this twelvemonth.”—‘"It is a 
most unhappy thing,” said Bruno, “if it be true; but you 
know I taught you to say so last night, and you should not 
_make sport both with your wife and us at the same time.” 
At this he began to roar out afresh, saying, ‘Good God! 


400 THE DECAMERON 


you make me mad to hear you talk; I tell you once for all 
that it was stolen this very night.”—“ Nay if it be,” quoth 
Buffalmacco, “we must think of some way to get it back 
again.”—‘‘ And what way must we take,” said he, ‘‘to find 
it ?”—-‘ Depend upon it,” replied the other, ‘that nobody 
came from the Indies to steal it; it must be somewhere 
in your neighbourhood, and if you could get the people 
together, I could make a charm with some bread and 
cheese, that would soon discover the person.”—“ True,” 
said Bruno, ‘‘ but they would know in that case what you > 
are about, and the person that has it would never come 
near you.”—“ How must we manage then?” quoth the 
other. ‘Oh,” replied Bruno, “ you shall see me do it with 
some pills of ginger and a little wine, which I will ask 
them to come and drink. They will have no suspicion 
what our design is, and we can make a charm of these, as 
well as of the bread and cheese.”—“ Very right,” quoth the 
other. ‘‘ Well, what do you say, Calandrino? Have youa 
mind we shall try it? ””—‘‘ For Heaven’s sake do,” he said : 
‘were I only to know who the thief is, I should be half 
comforted.”—“ Well, then,” quoth Bruno, ‘I am ready to 
go to Florence for the things, if you will but give me money.” 
He happened to have a few shillings in his pocket, which 
he gave him. 

Accordingly Bruno went to a friend’s house at Florence, 
and bought a pound of ginger made into pills, and he got 
two pills of aloes, which had a private mark that he should 
not mistake them, being all candied over with sugar; and 
buying a flask of good sack also, he returned to Calandrino, 
and said, ‘‘To-morrow you must take care to invite every 
one that you have the least suspicion of: it is a holiday, 
and they will be glad to come, and we will complete the ~ 
charm to-night, and bring the things to your house in the 
morning, whilst, upon your account, I will take care then to 
do and say what is necessary upon such an occasion.” ' 
Calandrino did so, and in the morning he had all the 
people in the parish almost together under an elm-tree in 
the churchyard, when his two friends, brought the pills and 
wine, and making them stand round in a circle, Bruno said 
to them, ‘Gentlemen, it is fit that I should tell you the 


EIGHTH DAY 401 


reason of your being summoned here in this manner, to the 
end, if anything should happen which you do not like, that 
I be not blamed for it. You must know, then, that 
Calandrino had a pig stolen last night ; and, as some of the 
company here must have taken it, he, that he may find out 
the person, would have every man take and eat one of 
these pills, and drink a glass of wine after it; and whoever 
the guilty person is, you will find he will not be able to get 
a bit of it down, but it will taste so bitter that he will be 
forced to spit it out: so that, to prevent such open shame, 
he had better, whoever he is, make a secret confession to 
the priest, and I will proceed no further.” 

All the people present showed a readiness to taste; so 
placing them all in order, he gave every man his pill, and 
coming to Calandrino, he gave one of the aloe pills to him, 
which he straightway put into his mouth, and no sooner 
did he begin to chew it, but he was forced to spit it out. 
Every one was now attentive to see who spit his pill out, 
and whilst Bruno kept going round, taking no notice, he 
heard somebody say behind him, ‘‘ Hey-day! what is the 
meaning of its disagreeing so with Calandrino?” When, 
turning suddenly about, and seeing that Calandrino had 
spit it out, he said, “Stay a little, honest friends, and be 
not too hasty in judging ; it may be something else that has 
made him spit, and therefore he shall try another. So he 
gave him the other aloe pill, and then went on to the rest 
that were unserved. But if the first was bitter to him, this 
he thought much more so: however, he endeavoured to get 
it down as well as he could, but it was impossible ; it made 
the tears run down his cheeks, and he was forced to spit it 
out at last, as he had donethe other. In the meantime 
Buffalmacco was going about with the wine; but when he 
and they all saw what Calandrino had done, they began to 
call out, and say that he had robbed himself; and some of 
the people were greatly incensed at him for it. And after 
they were all departed, Buffalmacco said, “I always thought 
that you yourself were the thief, and that you were willing 
to make us believe it was stolen, in order to keep your 
money in your pocket, as we should expect a treat upon 
the occasion.” Whilst he, who had yet the taste of the 


402 THE DECAMERON 


aloes in his mouth, fell a-swearing that he knew nothing of 
the matter. ‘Tell me truly,” then, said Buffalmacco, ‘ did 
you not sell it?” This made him quite desperate. When 
Bruno said, “I was just now told by one of the company 
that you have a mistress in this neighbourhood, to whom 
you are very kind, and that he is confident you have given 
it to her. You know you once took us to the plains of 
Mugnone, to look for some black stones, when you left us 
in the lurch, and pretended you had found them ; and’ now 
you think to swear, and make us believe, that your pig is 
stolen, when you have either given it away, or sold it. You 
have put so many tricks upon us, that we intend to be 
fooled no more by you. Therefore, as we have had a deal 
of trouble in the affair, you shall make us amends, by 
giving us two couple of fowls, unless you mean that we 
should tell your wife.” Calandrino now perceiving that he 
was not to be believed, and being unwilling to have them 
add to his troubles by bringing his wife upon his back, was 
forced to give them the fowls, which they took to Flor- 
ence along with the pork, leaving him there to complain 
of the loss he had sustained, and the injuries that were 
done him. 


NOVEL VII 


a certain scholar is in love with a widow lady named Helena ; who, 
being enamoured of another person, makes the former wait a whole 
night for her during the midst of winter in the snow. in return, 
he afterwards contrives that she shall stand naked on the top of a 
tower in the middle of July, exposed te the sun and all manner of 
insects. 


THE company could not help laughing at Calandrino’s sim- 
plicity, though they thought it too hard for him to lose 
both the fowls and the pig ; and, the story being ended, the 
queen ordered Pampinea to begin, which she did in this 
manner :— 

It often happens that the mockery which a man. intends 
to another falls upon his own head, and therefore it is no 
mark of a person’s good sense to take delight in such 
practices. In our former novels we have made ourselves 


EIGHTH DAY 403 


very merry with divers tricks that have been put upon 
people, where no revenge has been taken; but I design to 
move your compassion for a just return which a certain 
lady of our city met with, whose jest recoiled upon herself 
and to the hazard of her life, being mocked in the same 
manner; the hearing of which may be of great service to 
you, as it will be a caution not to do the like; and you will 
be wise if you attend to it. 

There lived not long since at Florence, a young handsome 
lady, of a good family as well as plentiful fortune, named 
Helena; who, being left a widow, had for some time con- 
tinued so, though she was courted by a young gentle- 
man who was entirely to her good liking; and, by the 
assistance of her favourite maid, they had frequent inter- 
views together. In the meantime, a young gentleman of 
our city who had long studied at Paris, not for the sake of 
retailing his learning out by the inch as we say, as many do, 
but only to know the reasons of things and the causes of 
the same, as becomes a gentleman—he, whose name was 
Rinieri, returning to Florence, was much respected there, 
both on account of his rank and learning, and lived as 
became’ a worthy citizen. But as it often happens that 
persons of the most sense and scholarship are the soonest 
caught in the snares of love, so it fell out with our Rinieri. 
For, being at a feast one day, he met with this lady, clothed 
in her weeds, when she seemed to him so full of beauty 
and sweetness that he never saw any one to compare to her ; 
and happy he thought the man whom fortune should bless 
with her as his wife. And casting his eye towards her 
once and again, and being sensible that great and valuable 
things are not to be attained without trouble, he resolved to 
make it his whole care to please her and gain her affection 
if it were possible.’ The lady, who did not always look 
upon the ground, but thought full as well of herself as she 
deserved, throwing her eyes artfully about her was soon 
sensible if any one beheld her with pleasure, when she 
immediately took notice of Rinieri; and she said, smiling 
to herself, “I think I am not come out to-day in vain, 
for I seem to have caught a gudgeon.” And she would 
give him now and then a glance from the corner of her eye 


404 THE DECAMERON 


to let him see she was pleased with him, thinking that the 
more admirers she had of the greater value would her 
charms be to that person for whom she had designed them. 
Our scholar now began to lay all his philosophy aside, 
and turned his thoughts entirely to her; and learning 
where she lived, he was continually passing that way, 
under one pretence or another, thinking thereby to please 
her; and the lady, for the reason before given, seemed 
to value herself the more upon it. Thereupon he found 
means of talking to the maid, desiring her interest and 
intercession with her mistress, so that he might obtain 
her favour ; who promised him very fully, and accordingly 
she let her lady know it, when she made the greatest 
jest in the world of him, and said, ‘‘ Observe now, this 
man is come here to lose the little sense that he went to 
fetch from Paris, and he shall have what he looks for. 
Go, then, and tell him that my love is equally great for him, 
but that I must have regard to my honour, which, if he is 
as wise as he would be thought, he will like’ me the better 
for.” Alas! poor woman, she knew not what it was to try 
her wit against a scholar! The maid delivered her message, 
upon which the scholar, being overjoyed, began to press 
the thing more closely, and to write letters and send her 
presents, which were all received, though he had no answer 
in return but what was general; and in this manner 
he was long kept im suspense. At last, having related 
the whole affair to her lover, and he a little uneasy and 
jealous about it, to convince him that his suspicion was 
ill-grounded, and being much solicited by the scholar, she 
sent her maid to tell him that she had yet no opportunity to 
oblige him since she had made a discovery to him of her 
love, but that the next day being Christmas Day she 
hoped to be with him; directing him to come that 
evening into her court, and she would meet him there as 
soon as it was convenient. The scholar, overjoyed at this, 
failed not of coming at the time appointed, when he was 
put into the courtyard by the maid, and locked up there 
to wait for the lady, who had invited her lover to be with 
her that night; and after supping agreeably together, she 
let him know what she meant to do, adding, “And you 


EIGHTH DAY 405 


may now see how great my regard is for you, as well as for 
him of whom you have been so foolishly jealous.” The 
lover listened eagerly to this discourse, being desirous of 
seeing some proof of that, for which he had only her word. 
Now a great snow had fallen the day before, and everything 
was covered with it, which made it seem colder to our 
scholar than otherwise it would have been: however, he 
bore it with great patience, expecting soon to have amends 
made him. In alittle time she said to her lover, ‘ Let us 
go into the chamber, and see out of the window what this 
man is doing, of whom you are jealous, and what answers 
he will make to the maid, whom I have sent to talk 
with him.” So they went upstairs, and looking out, with- 
out being seen, they heard the girl saying to him, “Sir, 
my lady is exceedingly uneasy, for one of her brethren is 
happened to come to see her this evening, and they have 
had a great deal of talk together, and he would needs sup 
with her, nor is he yet gone away; but I believe he will not 
stay long: and for that reason she has not been able to 
come to you, but will make what haste she can, and she 
hopes you will not take it ill that you are forced to wait 
thus.” The scholar, supposing it to be really so, replied, 
«Pray tell your mistress to have no care for me, till she can 
conveniently be with me, but that I desire she would be as 
speedy as possible.” The girl then left him, and went to 
bed. ‘ Well!” said the lady to her lover, ‘what think 
you now? Can you imagine, if I had that love for him 
which you seem to apprehend, that I would let him stay 
there to be frozen to death?” Thus they talked and 
laughed together about the poor scholar, whilst he was 
forced to walk backwards and forwards in the court to 
keep himself warm, without having anything to sit down 
upon, or the least shelter from the weather, cursing the 
brother’s long stay, and expecting that everything he heard 
was the door opening for him—but expecting in vain. 
About midnight she said again to her lover, ‘“‘ Well, my 
dear, what is your opinion now of our scholar? Whether 
do you think his sense or my love the greater at this time? 
Sure you will let me hear no more of that jealousy which 
you seemed to express yesterday; be convinced that I 


| 406 THE DECAMERON 


_ value you as much as you can love me. But,” continued 
she, ‘‘ we will take another look out, and see whether that 
_ fire be extinct or not, which he used to write me word had 
well nigh consumed him.” When, going again to the 
window, they saw him dancing a jig in the snow, to the 
chattering of his teeth, which was occasioned by the ex- 
cessive cold: and she said, ‘‘ You see now that I can 
make people dance without the music either of fiddles 
or bagpipes; but let us go to the door, and do you stand 
still and listen whilst I speak to him; perhaps we may 
have as much diversion in that manner as by seeing him.” 
So she went softly, and called to him through the keyhole, 
which made the scholar rejoice exceedingly, supposing that 
he was now to be admitted ; and he stepped to the door, 
and said, ‘I am here, madam; for Heaven’s sake open 
it, for I am ready to die with cold.” She replied, ‘Surely 
you can never be so starved with this little snow; it is 
much colder at Paris: but I can by no means let: you in 
yet; for this unlucky brother of mine, who came to sup 
with me last night, is yet with me; but he will go soon, 
and then I will come directly and open the door: it wag 
with great difficulty that I could get away from him now 
to come to you, to desire you would not be uneasy at 
waiting so long.”—‘‘ Let me beg of you, then,” said he, 
“to open the door, that I may stand only under cover, for 
it snows fast, and afterwards I will wait as long as you 
please.” —‘‘ Alas! my dear love,” quoth the lady, “the © 
door makes sucha noise always in opening, that my brother 
will hear it; but I will go and bid him depart first, and 
then open it.”—-“ Make what haste you can,” said the 
scholar, ‘‘and pray have a good fire ready against I come 
in, for 1 am so benumbed that I have almost lost all sense 
of feeling.””—“ That is impossible,” replied she, ‘if it be 
true what you have so often written to me, that you were 
all on fire with love; but I see now that you were jesting 
all the time. Have a good heart, however, for I am 
going.” The scholar now perceiving that it was all an 
insult and mockery upon him, made several attempts to 
open the door, looking round also to see if there was any 
other way to get out; but not finding any, he began to 


EIGHTH DAY | 407 


curse the inclemency of the weather, the lady’s cruelty, 
and the long nights, together with his great simplicity ; 
and being outrageously exasperated against her, his most 
violent love was changed into as rank a hatred, whilst he 
was contriving various methods of revenge, which: he now 
longed as much for, as he had before desired to be with 
her. Thus he was kept all night long; and when daylight 
began to appear, the maid, as she had before been in- 
structed, came down into the court, and said, with a show 
of pity, ‘‘It was very unlucky, sir, that person’s coming to 
our house last night, for he has given us a world of trouble, 
and you are, in consequence, almost frozen to death. But 
you know the reason. Havea little patience ; for what could 
not be done then may be brought to pass another time. 
I know very well that nothing could have given my lady 
so much uneasiness.” » The scholar, as wise as he was full 
of wrath, knowing that threats serve only as weapons to the 
persons so threatened, kept all his resentment within his 
own breast, and, without showing himself the least disturbed, 
said very submissively, “‘In truth, I never had a worse 
night in my life; but I know very well that your lady is 
not at all to blame, because she came to me several times, 
with a great deal of humanity, to excuse herself, and comfort 
me. And, therefore, as you say, what could not be now 
may be another time. Farewell, and pray give my service 
to her.” Sohe made what shift he could to get home, being 
almost dead, and threw himself upon the bed to rest, when, 
upon his awakening, he found he had lost the use of both 
his hands and feet. He therefore sent for physicians, and 
let them into the cause of his illness, and in length of time 
they found means to supple the nerves, so that he could 
stir his limbs ; but had it not been for his youth, and the 
warm weather coming on soon after, he would have had a 
hard task to have recovered. Getting then sound and 
well again, and keeping his enmity to himself, he yet ap- 
peared to love her as much as ever; and fortune at last 
furnished him with an opportunity of satisfying his re- 
venge: for her lover had taken a fancy to another lady, 
and turned her adrift, which gave her such concern that 
she seemed to pine away upon it. But the maid, who was 


408 THE DECAMERON 


much grieved, finding no way to comfort her for the loss of 
her spark, and seeing the scholar pass that way sometimes, 
had a foolish notion come into her head, that he might be 
able to bring him back by some magical operation, of 
which he was said to be a great master ; and she acquainted 
her with it. The foolish lady, little thinking that had he 
really been a proficient he would scarcely have applied his 
knowledge to do her such a service, listened to the girl, 
and then bid her learn from him whether he was willing to 
oblige her, promising anything in return he should desire. 
She delivered the message, when the scholar said, with 
great joy to himself, “‘Thank Heaven, the time is now 
come for me to be revenged of this woman for the injury 
she did me in return for my great love.” And he replied, 
“Tell your mistress that she need give herself no trouble, 
for were her lover in the Indies I could bring him back to 
ask her pardon: but concerning the manner of doing it, 
that I will impart to her as soon as she pleases ; and so 
pray acquaint her from me with my service.” 

The girl reported what he said, and they agreed to meet 
in St. Lucia’s meadow. Accordingly they came thither, 
and had much conversation by themselves; whilst she, 
forgetting how he had been served by her, acquainted him 
with the whole affair, and desired his assistance. The 
scholar then said, ‘‘Madam, amongst other things that 
I studied at Paris, was the black art, in which I made 
a great progress; but, as it is a sinful practice, I have 
made a resolution never to follow it, either for myself or any 
other person ; though indeed I love you so much, that I am 
unable to refuse either that or anything else which you 
shall require from me: but I must put you in mind that it 
is a more troublesome operation than you may imagine, either 
to bring a man back to love a woman, or a woman to love 
a man ; for it is to be done only by the person concerned, 
who should have a great presence of mind: for all must be 
in the night, in a solitary place, and nobody present ; which 
conditions I do not know whether you will be able to con- 
form to.” She, more enamoured than wise, replied, “* My 
love for him is such, that I would undertake anything to 
have him again, who has abandoned me so wrongfully; 


EIGHTH’ DAY. 409 


only tell me in what I must show that presence of mind 
you speak of.” Said the scholar then to her, ‘‘ Madam, I 
must make an image of tin in his name whom you wish to 
have yours, which I shali send to you; and immediately, 
whilst the moon is in the decline, you must, after your first 
sleep, bathe seven times with it in the river; after which 
you must go into some high tree or upon some uninhabited 
house-top, and, turning to the north, repeat seven times, 
with the same image in your hand, some certain words which 
I shall give you in writing ; and then two damsels, the most 
beautiful that ever you saw, will appear to you, graciously 
demanding what service you have for them to do, which 
you may safely tell them, taking care not to name one 
person for another; when they will leave you and you may 
go afterwards and dress yourself, and depart to your own 
house, being assured that before midnight your lover will 
come with tears in his eyes to beg your pardon, and from 
that time he will never forsake you more.” The lady, 
hearing this story; began to think she had already recovered 
her lover ; and she replied, ‘‘ Never fear, I can do all this 
very well, having the most convenient place for the purpose 
that can be; for there is a farm of mine close to the river 
Arno; and, now I remember, there is an’ uninhabited 
tower not far off, where the shepherds climb up sometimes 
by help of a ladder, to look for their strayed cattle; there 
I can do what you have enjoined me.’”’ The scholar, who 
knew perfectly both the farm and tower, which was the 
very. place that he himself» had contrived, answered, 
“Madam, I never was in that country, and therefore am 
unacquainted with the farm and tower you mention, but 
if it be ‘so, it is convenient enough; so, at a proper time, 
I will send the image, and the words you are to repeat; 
and I-hope when your point is secured, that you will be 
mindful of me in the promise you have made me.” She 
agreed without fail to remember him, and so took her 
leave. The scholar now concluding that his scheme had 
taken effect, had an image made, and wrote out an old tale 
by way of charm, which he sent as soon as he thought it 
a proper time, to her, letting her know that he would have 
it done the following night: and he went privately with 


410 | THE DECAMERON 


one servant to a friend’s house which was near, to be ready 
for what he had designed. She also and her maid went to 
her farm, when, pretending to go to bed, and having sent 
her maid to sleep, she went to the river’s side; close to the 
tower, and looking round to see that nobody was near, she 
stripped, and hid her clothes under a bush, and. bathed 
herself seven times with the image, and then went naked 
to the tower with the image in her hand.» The scholar, 
about the beginning of the night, had hid himself along 
with his servant in the sallows near to the place; when, 
seeing her go past him in that manner, ‘and admiring the 
extraordinary beauty of her person, he began to relent a 
little, and to have some thoughts of putting up with the 
injury. Tull calling to mind her unparalleled inhumanity 
towards him, and what ‘he had suffered, there was an end of 
pity, and he resolved to put his purpose into execution. So 
she mounted up into the tower, and having turned to the 
north, began to say the words which he had given her to 
repeat, whilst he went softly after her, and took away the 
ladder, waiting afterwards to see what she would say and 
do. She had now said the words over seven times, and was 
expecting the two damsels to come; and thus she waited 
until daylight began to appear, when, being weary, as it was 
a little cool withal, and sorry also that it had not happened 
as the scholar had told her, she began to say to herself, 
** Perhaps he has a mind I should pass such a night as I 
occasioned him to have, but he mistakes the thing, for the 
nights are not one third part so long now as they were then, 
and besides the cold was infinitely greater at that time.” 
-She then determined to come down before it should be 
broad daylight ; but looking for the ladder, she. perceived 
it was taken away. Upon this her heart failed her, and 
she fell down in a swoon: and as soon-as she came to 
herself she began to lament; and, well knowing that it 
was the scholar’s doing, to blame herself as well for giving 
the provocation as for putting herself into his power after- 
wards. Looking then everywhere to see if there was any 
other way to come down, and finding there was not, she 
renewed her complaints, saying to herself, “Unhappy 
wretch! what will thy brothers, relations, and all the 


EIGHTH DAY 4ll 


people of Florence say, when it shall be known. that thou 
wast found here naked? Thy character will be quite lost; 
and say what thou wilt in thy own vindication, the scholar 
will contradict it.. Miserable woman! to losé both thy 
lover and thy honour at the same time!” Here her grief 
was such, that she was going to throw herself down head- 
long; but as the sun was now rising, she got to one corner 
of the wall to see if she could discover any shepherd’s boy 
to send for her maid, when it happened that the scholar, 
who had been taking a nap upon the grass, awoke and saw 
her, and»she him; on which he said, ‘Good morrow, 
madam, are the damsels come yet?” At this: she fell a- 
crying most bitterly, and desired he would come to her, 
that they might have some talk together. He readily 
obliged her in that, whilst she lying down, with only her 
head appearing above the battlements, began to weep: and 
say, ‘Sir, if I caused you to have a bad night, you are 
sufficiently revenged : for, though it is in July, yet I have 
been just starved to death, as Iam naked; not to mention 
my grief for the trick I put upon you, and for my own folly 
in believing you, that I have almost cried my eyes out of 
my head. ©Therefore I entreat you, not out of any regard 
for me, for none is due from you ; but for your own sake, 
as you are a gentleman, that you would esteem what you 
have already made me suffer a sufficient revenge, and that 
you would order my clothes to be brought, and let me 
come down ; nor offer to take that away from me which it 
is not in your power to restore ; I mean my honour. | For 
if I denied you my company one night, you may have it as 
many nights as you please in return for that one. Let this 
therefore suffice, and, like a man of worth, think it enough 
that you have had me in your power; nor set your wit 
against a woman. Where is the glory in an eagle’s van- 
quishing a poor yielding dove? Then for Heayen’s sake, 
and your own honour, show me some pity!” The scholar 
found himself alternately influenced by two different mo- 
tives ; one while he was moved with compassion to see her 
in that distress, but revenge and fury at length gained - 
the superiority, and he replied as follows :—‘* Madam, if 
my prayers (though unattended with tears, and such sooth- 


412 THE DECAMERON 


ing expressions as yours) could have procured only a little 
shelter for me the night that I was dying in your court, all 
covered with snow, I could, in that case, easily hear now 
what you ‘have to say: but you may remember that you 
were then with your gallant, entertaining him with my 
sufferings ; let him come and bring your clothes, and the 
ladder: for he will be the best guardian of honour, who 
has so often had it in keeping. Why do not you call upon 
him then? It is his business more than any other person’s, 
and if he do not succour you, whom will he regard? You 
may now see whether your love for him, or your great 
understanding, is able to deliver you from my folly ; as you 
were pleased to make a doubt whether that folly or your 
love for him was greater. And concerning the offer of 
your person, I desire it not, neither could you withhold 
it from me if I did. No, keep it all for your. lover ; for 
my own part I have had enough of one night. » You’ think 
to cajole me, by speaking of my great worth and gentility, 
and would have me believe that I shall lessen myself by 
this usage of you. But your flattery shall never blind my 
understanding, as your fair promises once did: I now 
know myself, and can say that I never learnt so much all 
the time I was at Paris, as you taught me in one night. 
But, allowing that I am of a generous disposition, you are 
no proper object. Amongst savage beasts as you are, the 
end of vengeance is death, but with men, indeed, what you 
say should be sufficient. Therefore, although I am no 
eagle, yet, knowing you to be no dove, but rather a veno- 
mous serpent, I shall persecute you with all my might as 
an old enemy ; though what I do cannot be called revenge, 
so properly as chastisement ; for revenge ought to exceed 
the offence given, whereas, considering how I was served 
by you, were I to take away your life, this would not be 
equal to it, nor even the lives of a hundred more such 
women as yourself. For what the devil are you better 
(setting aside a little beauty, which a few years will take 
away from you) than the paltriest chambermaid? And yet 
no thanks to you, that the life of a worthy gentleman was 
not lost, as you were pleased just now to call me, which 
may be of greater service to the world than a hundred 


EIGHTH DAY 413 


thousand such ives as yours could ever be, whilst the 
world endures. Learn then what it is to mock and abuse 
people of understanding, and scholars, and be wiser for the 
time to come, if you happen to escape. But if you have 
such a desire to come, why do not you throw yourself to 
the ground? By breaking your neck, if it please Heaven, 
you may at once escape the punishment which you seem 
_ to undergo, and make me the happiest man in the world. 
So I have nothing more to say to you, but that as I have 
shown you the way up to the tower, do you find a way, 
if you.can, to come down as readily as you could insult me.” 

All the while the scholar was speaking she was weeping, 
whilst the time kept going on, and the sun rose higher and 
higher.. And when he had made an end, she said, “Ah! 
cruel man; if that unhappy night still galls you, and my 
crime appears so heinous, that neither my youth, my tears, 
nor my humblest entreaties can move you, yet let this last 
_ act of mine alone have some weight to lessen the force of 
your severity ; consider how I put entire confidence in you, 
and entrusted you with my most secret designs, for without 
that you would never have had it in your power to revenge 
yourself of me, as you desired so much. Away, then, with 
all this fury, and pardon me this time; I am ready, if you 
will forgive me and set me at liberty, to abandon that 
unworthy young man, and to have you only for my lover 
and my lord. And though you make light of my beauty, 
esteeming it trifling and transitory, yet it is what other 
young gentlemen would love and value, and you may think 
otherwise. And, notwithstanding this cruel treatment, I 
can never think you could wish to see me dash my brains 
out before your face, when I was once so agreeable to you. 
For Heayen’s sake, therefore, show me some pity; the sun 
now waxes warm, and is as troublesome as the coldness of 
the night.” The scholar then, who held her in talk only 
for his diversion, replied, ‘‘ Madam, the confidence you 
reposed in me was out of no regard you had for me, but 
only to regain your lover; and you are mistaken if you 
think I had no other convenient way to come at my 
revenge: I had a thousand others, and had laid.a thousand 
different snares to entrap you; so that, if this had not 


414 THE DECAMERON 


happened, I must necessarily have taken you in some 
other; nor was there any one but would have been at- 
tended with as much shame and punishment to you as 
this. I have made choice of it, therefore, not because you 
gave me the opportunity, but that I might gain my end the 
sooner. And though they had all failed, yet had I my pen 
left, with which I would have so mauled you, that you 
should have wished a thousand times’a day that you had 
never been born. The force of satire is much greater than 
they are sensible of on whom it was never tried. I swear 
solemnly, then, that I would have written’ such things of 
you, that you should have pulled your very eyes out for 
vexation. As to the offer of your love, that is needless: 
let him take you, if he will, to whom you’ more properly 
belong, and whom I now love for what he has done to you, 
as) much as before I hated him. You women are all for 
young flighty fellows, without considering that those people 
are never content with one mistress, but are roving always 
from one to another, as you have found by experience. 
Their greatest happiness’ is in gaining favours ftom you, 
and it is their utmost glory to publish them. Truly, you 
think your love is all a secret, and that nobody but your 
maid and I were ever acquainted with it, whilst his 
neighbourhood and yours both talk of nothing else; but it 
generally happens that the persons concerned are the last 
that hear of such things. ‘Therefore, if you have made a 
bad. choice, keep to it, and leave me, whom you have 
despised, to another lady whom I have made choice of, one 
of more account than yourself, and who knows better how 
to distinguish people. As to my being concerned for your 
death, if you please, you may make the experiment. But, 
as I suppose, you will scarcely humour me so far, so I now 
tell you, that if the sun begin to scorch, you may call to 
mind the cold you made me endure, and together they will 
make a proper temperature.” The disconsolate lady, seeing 
that all these words. tended to some cruel purpose, began to 
weep again, and say, “Behold, if nothing that concerns 
myself can move you to pity, yet let your love for that lady 
whom you say you have met with, who is wiser than I, and 
by whom you say. you are beloved ; let your regard;'I say, 


EIGHTH! DAY Nene} 


for her prevail upon you to forgive me, and to bring me 
tay clothes, that I may dress myself:and go down.” ‘The 
scholar fell a-laughing at this, and seeing it. was abou» 
noon, he replied, “Lo, I know not how to say to. you nay, 
as you entreat me by that lady; then tell me: where: they 
are, and I will go for them that you may come down.” She 
_ was a little comforted at this, and directed him to the 
place where’’she had laid them: so he went away, and 
ordered his servant to keep strict watch that nobody came 
to her relief till his return ; and in the meantime, he went 
to a friend’s house, where he dined, and laid himself down 
to sleep. The lady, conceiving some vain hopes of being 
released, had seated herself down in the utmost agonies, 
getting to that corner of the wall in which there was the 
most shade, where she continued, sometimes thinking, and 
then again lamenting ; this moment in hopes, and the next 
altogether in despair of his‘return with the clothes; at last, 
_ musing of one thing after another, being quite spent: with 
grief, and’ having had no rest the night before, she dropped 
asleep. The sun was now in the meridian, darting all its 
foree directly upon her naked: and most delicate body, as 
also upon’ her head; so that it not only scorched all the 
skin that lay exposed, but cleft it by little and: little into 
chinks, and‘ blistered it to that degree that it made her 
awake; when, finding herself perfectly roasted, and offering 
to turn about; it all seemed to rend asunder like 'a’piece 
of burnt parchment that’had been kept upon the stretch. 
Besidés all this,; her head’ ached’ to that degree as if it 
would rive’ in pieces, which was no wonder. Moreover, 
the reflection of the heat against her feet was so. strong, 
that she could ‘not rest anywhere, but kept crying, and 
moving from place to place. » And as there was no wind, 
the flies'and hornets were constantly buzzing about her, 
striking their stings into the chinks of her flesh, and covef- 
ing her over with wounds, whilst it was her whole emplay- 
ment to beat them off, still cursing herself; her lover, and 
the scholar. Being thus harassed by the’ heat, by insects 
by hunger, but much more by’ thirst, and pierced to the 
heart by a thousand ‘bitter reflections, she got up to see f 
anybody was near, resolving, whoever was within call, P 
} 


| 
| 


| 
416 THE DECAMERON 


beg their assistance ; but even this comfort her ill fortune 
hed denied her. The labourers: were all gone out of the 
@ lds, on account of the heat, though it happened that 
‘nobody had been at work thereabouts all that day, being 
employed in threshing their corn at home, so that she 
heard nothing but the grasshoppers, and saw the river 
Arno, which, by making her long for some of its water, 
instead of quenching, only added to her thirst. She saw 
also pleasant groves, cool shades, and country-houses, 
which made her trouble so much the greater. What can be 
said more of this unhappy lady? She who, the night before, 
could, by the whiteness of her skin, dispel even the shade 
of night, was now all brown and spotted, so that she 
seemed the most. unsightly creature that could be. Being 
thus void of all hope, and expecting nothing but death, 
towards the middle of the afternoon, the scholar happened 
to awake, when he called her to mind, and returned to the 
tower, sending the servant back, who was yet fasting, to get 
his dinner. As soon as she saw him, all weak and miser- 
able as she was, she came and placed herself down by the 
battlements, and said, ‘‘O sir, you are most unreasonably 
revenged ; for if I made you freeze almost with cold, one 
night in my court, you have roasted and burnt me for a 
whole day upon this tower, where I have been at death’s 
door with hunger and thirst ; I conjure you, therefore, that 
you would come up, and bestow that death upon me, which 
my heart will not let me inflict upon myself, and which I 
entirely covet, to put an end to that pain which I can no 
longer endure; or, if you deny me this favour, that you 
would send me up a little water to wash my mouth, my 
tears not being sufficient, such is the drought and scorch- 
ing I feel.” The scholar was sensible, by her manner of 
speaking, how weak she was; he perceived, also, by what 
he saw of her body, how it was scorched and blistered ; for 
tnat reason, therefore, as well as her entreaties, he began to 
have a little compassion, but said, ‘‘ Vile woman! thou 
shalt never meet with thy death from my hands ;-from 
thine own thou mayest if thou wilt; and just so much 
water will I give thee, as thou gavest me fire in my 
xtremity. This only grieves me, that, whilst I was forced 





EIGHTH DAY 41] 


to lie in dung for my recovery, thou, nevertheless, wilt be 
cured with the: coldness of perfumed rose water; and 
though I was near losing both limbs and life, yet thou, 
when stripped of thy skin, wilt appear with fresh beauty, 
like.a serpent just uncased.”—" Alas!” quoth the lady, 
‘‘may only my enemies gain charms in that manner! But 
you, more cruel than any savage beast, how could you 
bear to torture me as you have done? What could I have 
expected worse from you, had I put all your relations to 
death in the cruellest manner imaginable? What greater 
punishment could be thought of for a traitor, who had been 
the destruction of a whole city, than to be roasted in the 
sun, and then devoured by flies? and not to give me a 
taste of a little water, whilst the vilest malefactors, when 
chey are about to suffer, are not denied even wine. Now 
I see you fixed in your barbarous resolution, nor any way 
moved with what I have suffered, I shall wait patiently for 
my death. The Lord have mercy on me, and look witha 
just eye on what you have done!” 

With these words she withdrew to the middle of the 
place, despairing of her life, and ready to faint away a 
thousand times with thirst, where she sat lamenting her 
condition. But it being now towards the evening, and he 
thinking she had suffered enough, made his servant take 
her clothes, wrapped up in his cloak, and he went. with 
them to her house, where he found her maid sitting at the 
door, all sad and disconsolate for her long absence; and 
he said to her, ‘‘ Pray, good woman, what is become of 
your mistress ?”——‘‘ Sir,” she replied, ‘“‘I do not know: I 
thought to have found her in bed this morning, where I 
saw her last night, but she is neither to be found there nor 
anywhere else, nor do I know what is become of her. But 
can you give me any tidings of her?”—“TI wish only,” 
- quoth he, “that thou hadst been along with her, that I 
might have taken the same revenge of thee that I have had 
of her. But depend upon it thou shalt never escape; I 
will so pay thee for what thou hast done, that thou shalt 
remember me every time thou shalt offer to put a trick 
upon any one.” And then he said to the servant, “Go, 
carry her clothes, and tell her she may go for her mistress 

) 


418 THE DECAMERON 


if she has.a mind.” The servant accordingly delivered 
them, with. that message, and the girl knowing them again, 
and hearing what he said, was afraid she was murdered, 
and could scarcely help making an uproar about it ; so she 
ran thither, full of grief. Now it happened that a labourer 
of hers had lost two of ‘his hogs that day, and coming near 
to the tower to look for them, just as ‘the scholar was 
departed, he heard the complaints that the poor creature 
was making, so he cried out, ‘‘ Who makes that noise?” 
She immediately knew his voice, and called him by his 
name, saying, ‘Go, I pray now, and desire my maid ‘to 
come to me.” The man then knew her, and said, ‘f Alas, 
madam, who has brought you hither? Your maid. has 
been looking for you all day long. But who could have 
thought of finding you: in this place?” And he took the 
sides of the ladder, and placed them as they should ‘be, 
binding them about with osiers: and as he was doing this, 
the maid came, and being able to hold her tongue no 
longer, she wrung her hands, and fell a+roaring out, “Dear 
madam, oh, where are you?” She, hearing her, replied, as 
well as she could, “Good girl, never stand crying, but 
make haste and bring me my clothes.” She was pretty 
easy when she heard her speak, and jumping upon the 
ladder before it was quite made fit, by the man’s help got 
apon the tower, when, seeing ‘her lie naked there, burnt 
like a log of wood, and quite spent, she cried over her as if 
she had been dead. But the lady desired her to be quiet, 
and dress her; and understanding by her that nobody 
knew where she was but the persons who brought the 
clothes to her and the servant that was there, she was a 
little comforted, begging earnestly of them to keep it’secret. 
The labourer now took her upon his back, as she had no 
strength to go, and brought her down safely in that 
manner; whilst the girl, following after with less caution 
than was necessary, slipped her foot, and falling down the 
ladder, broke her thigh, which occasioned her to make a 
most grievous outcry. The man, after he had set his lady 
on the grass, went to see what was the matter with the 
maid, and finding that she had her thigh broke, he laid her 
down by the lady, who, seeing this addition to her mis- 





EIGHTH DAY 41g 


fortunes, and that she was disabled from whom she 
expected most succour, began to lament afresh, and the 
man, unable to pacify her, fell a-weeping likewise. But it 
being now about sunset, he tock her to his own house, and 
brought two of his brethren and his wife back with him for 
the maid, whom they carried thither upon a table. Having 
given the lady some water to refresh her, and used all 
the kind‘comfortable words they could think of, she was 
brought to her own chamber; and the man’s wife gave 
her a little bread soaked in water, and undressed and put 
her to bed. It was then contrived that they should both 
be taken to Florence that night, and'so they were. There 
the lady, who was never at a loss for invention, cooked up 
an artful story, which was believed by her brothers and 
sisters, and every other almost, viz., that it was all done by 
enchantment. Physicians were sent for, who, with a great 
deal of pain and trouble to her, and not without the loss 
of her whole skin several times over, cured her of a violent 
fever, and other accidents attending it; and they also set 
the girl’s broken thigh. From that time she forgot her 
lover, and was more careful for the future, both in choosing 
a spark and in making her sport. The scholar, also, 
hearing what had happened to the girl, thought he had 
full revenge, and so no more was said about'it. Thus the 


foolish lady was served for her wit and mockery, thinking 


to make a jest of a scholar, as if he had been a common 
person, never considering that the greatest part of them 
have the devil, as. they say, in a string. Then take care, 
ladies, how you make your jest, but especially with scholars. 


NOVEL VIII 


Two neighbours are very intimate together ; when one making very 
free with the other's wife, the other finds it out, and returns the 
compliment, whilst the friend ts locked up in a chest all the time, 


' Tue lady’s sufferings seemed grievous to all that heard 


them ; though their pity for her was the less, as they 
judged that she had in some measure deserved them; 
whilst the scholar was deemed most rigidly obstinate, and 


420 THE DECAMERON 


even cruel. But Pampinea having made an end, the queen 
ordered Flammetta to go on, who spoke as follows :-— 

As I suppose you have been under some concern for the 
scholar’s severity, it. may be proper, I believe, to revive 
your drooping spirits with some more cheerful subject. 
Therefore I shall tell you a story of a certain young man, 
who received an injury with more mildness than he, and 
returned it with more moderation. Whence you may learn, 
that a person ought to be content if he gives people as 
good as they bring, without desiring an. unreasonable 
vengeance, and far beyond what the provocation which he 
may have received requires. 

Know then, that at Siena lived, as I have been told, two 
young wealthy citizens, the one named Spinelloccio Tanena, 
and the other Zeppa di Mino, near neighbours to each other. 
and as intimate together as if they had been brothers; and 
each had a very handsome wife. Now it happened that 
Spinelloccio, going often to the other’s house, whether he 
was at home or not, became too familiar at last with his 
wife, which continued some time before anybody perceived 
it. But Zeppa being at home one day, without her know- 
ing it, Spinelloccio came to inquire for him, and being told 
by her that he was gone abroad, he began to make free 
with her as usual, This Zeppa was a witness to, and 
greatly troubled at; yet knowing that making a clamour 
would no way lessen the injury, but rather add to 
his shame, he began to think of some revenge, 
which should make no noise abroad, and with which 
he should yet be content. Resolving at length what 
to do, he went into the room after the friend was gone 
away, when he found her setting her head-dress a little 
to rights, and he said, “ What are you doing, madamP” 
She replied, ‘Do not you see?”—“ Yes, truly,” quoth he, 
‘‘and I have seen a great deal more than I could have 
wished.” So he charged her with the thing, and she came 
to an open confession, as it was in vain to deny it, and 
began to weep and beg his pardon. He then said to her, 
“Vou see you have been guilty of a very great crime; if 
you expect forgiveness from me, you must resolve to do 
what I shall enjoin you, which is to tell Spinelloccio that 


EIGHTH DAY 421. 


about the third hour to-morrow he must find some pretence 
of leaving me to go to you, when I will return home; and 
as soon as you hear me, do you make him go into that 
chest, and lock him up, and after you have done this I will 
tell you the rest. Have no doubt, however, about it, for I 
promise you I will do him no harm.” She agreed to do 
so ; and the next day, the two friends being together at that 
time, Spinelloccio, who had promised the lady to be with 
her then, said to Zeppa, ‘‘I am engaged to go and dine 
with a friend, whom I would not have wait for me; so fare 
you well.” Quoth Zeppa, “It is a long while till dinner 
yet.” Yes,” replied the other, ‘‘ but we have business to 
confer about, which requires me to be there in good time.” 
So he left him, and took a little circuit, and went to the 
lady, and they had no sooner shut themselves in the chamber, 
but Zeppa returned ; when she, seeming to be very much 
frightened, made him go into the chest, as the husband 
had directed, and locked him up, and then came out to 
her husband, who asked her whether dinner was ready. 
She replied, “It will be soon.”—‘' Then,” quoth he, “ as 
Spinelloccio is gone to dine with a friend, and left his 
wife at home by herself, do you call to her out of the 
window, to come and dine with us.” She readily obeyed 
out of fear for herself, and Spinelloccio’s wife came, after 
much entreaty, hearing that her husband was not to dine 
at home: when Zeppa showed the greatest fondness towards 
her imaginable, and making a sign for his wife to go into 
the kitchen, he took her by the hand and led her into the 
chamber, when he made fast the door. Upon this she 
began to say, “‘ Alas, sir, what mean you to do? Is this what 
you invite me for? This the regard you have for your 
friend?” Zeppa then drawing near to the chest where 
her husband was shut up, and holding her fast, he said, 
‘* Madam, before you utter any complaints, hear what I am 
going to tell you: I have loved your husband as if he had 
_ been my brother; and yesterday, though he knows nothing 

of it, I found out that he has as great an intimacy with 
my wife as he has with you. Now I respect him so much, that 
I intend to take no other revenge but what is agreeable to 
the quality of the offence. If you will not consent to this, 


422 THE DECAMERON 


be assured I shall revenge myself in such a manner that 
both he and you shall have cause to repent it.”——“ Well,” 
quoth she, ‘‘since your revenge then is to fall upon me, | 
must be content. Do you only make my peace with 
your wife for what I do, in like manner as I am ready to 
forgive her.” «He promised to do that, and to make her a 
present also of a jewel; Spinelloccio, hearing what passed, 
was fit to burst with vexation; and had it not been that 
he was prevented by the fear of Zeppa, he would have 
clamoured against and have abused her, even shut up as he 
was. But considering again that he had given the provo- 
cation, and that Zeppa had reason for what he had done, 
and had behaved courteously and like a friend, he resolved 
to respect him more than ever. Coming out of the 
chamber then together, and she demanding the jewel which 
he had promised, he called his wife up, who said only. this 
to her, “‘ Now, madam, we may quit scores,” and she spoke 
it with a smile. Quoth Zeppa then, ‘‘ Here, open this 
chest,” which she did, and he showed Spinelloccio to his 
wife. Now it would be difficult to say which of the two 
was most confounded, whether the man at seeing his friend, 
and knowing that he was privy to what he had done, or the 
woman at seeing her husband, and being conscious that 
he must have heard what had passed over his head. 
“Behold,” added Zeppa, ‘‘this is the jewel ; I now give it 
you.” Spinelloccio hereupon came out of the chest, and 
said, ‘‘ Well, now we are even; and, as you said before to 
my wife, itis best for us to continue friends ;” the other was 
content. So they dined very amicably together; and the 
same good understanding remained amongst them for the 
time to come. 


NOVEL IX 


Master Simon, the doctor, ts imposed upon by Bruno and Buffalmacco, 
and made to believe that he is to be one of the company of rovers, 
and afterwards they leave him in a ditch, 


THE communication of wives mentioned in the last novel 
accasioned a good deal of discourse, when the queen, 
knowing it was her turn, began in this manner: 


EIGHTH DAY 423 


Well did Spinelloccio deserve what he met with from 
his friend Zeppa; and I think they are not to blame who 
put jests upon people of their’own seeking, and such 
as they have really merited, though Pampinea was of 
a different opinion. Now as to Spinelloccio, it was no 
more than his due; but I purpose to speak of another, 
who would needs seek after it, and I commend those 
merry fellows for what they did. 

This then was a certain doctor of physic who returned 
from Bologna to Florence, strutting in the robes belonging 
to his profession, though an ass would have become them 
as well as he. We frequently see your citizens, after they 
have been to study at Bologna, come back, one a lawyer, 
another a physician, a third a notary, with their long 
scarlet gowns and furs, with other things to make a figure; 
and to what purpose, every day’s experience shows. us. 
Amongst the rest was one Master Simon da Villa, more 
rich in estate than learning, who appeared in his scarlet 
robes and ermine, calling himself a doctor of physic, and 
took a house in the Via del Cocomero. — Now, this Master 
Simon, being newly come thither, amongst his other 


the different gestures and manners of people, he observed 
and noted all. But he had cast his eye more particularly 
upon two painters, whom we have mentioned before, 
Bruno and Buffalmacco, who were always together, and 
lived in hisneighbourhood. And perceiving that they had 
less regard’ for the world than other people, and were 
always more cheerful, he asked a great number of persons 
about them. Being told then by every one that they were 
both poor men, and painters, he could not conceive how 
they could possibly live so merrily in their poverty, but 
supposed, as they were cunning fellows, that they must have 
some secret way of getting money ; he had a mind therefore 
to become acquainted with one or both of them, and so he 
happened tofall inwith Bruno, who, soon seeing to the bottom 
of him, made the merest game of him that could be, and 
the doctor was wonderfully delighted always in hearing him 


ake THE ‘DECAMERON 


talk. And having invited him several times to dinner, and 
thinking upon that account that he might discourse the 
more freely with him, he expressed, at length, his great 
wonder how he and Buffalmacco, who were both poor, 
could yet be so cheerful, and desired to know how they 
managed in that case. Bruno could not help laughing to 
himself, to hear the doctor put such a simple question, and 
resolving to give him a suitable answer, he said, “ There 
are many people, master, that I would never tell that to; 
but as you are a friend, and I know will keep it secret, I 
shall be less scrupulous with you. It is true we live as 
merrily as you imagine, or perhaps more so, and yet all 
we earn or possess will hardly find us salt to our broth, 
and I hope you do not think we steal: no, we go a-roying, 
and bring home with us—everything we can—desire; and 
thus it comes to pass that we live so merrily, as you 
observe.” The doctor wondered what this going a-roving 
could mean, and desired he would inform him, assuring 
him that he would never reveal the secret. ‘‘ Alas, Master 
Doctor, what a request is this! It is too great a secret, 
and I shall be ruined if I disclose it." You may depend 
upon what I say,” quoth the doctor, “it shall never go 
farther for me.” He then, after making abundance of 
excuses, said, ‘‘ Behold, master, the regard I have for your 
superexcellent understanding, and the confidence I repose 
in you is such that I can deny you nothing; therefore I 
will tell you, if you will swear to me, as you have just now 
promised, never to reveal it.” The doctor swore and swore 
again. ‘You must. know then, my dear master,” quoth 
he, “that there was lately a necromancer in this city, 
called Michael Scotus, because he was a Scotchman, who 
had great honour shown him by many of the gentry, few 
of whom are now living; and who, being about to leave 
this place, at their request, left it in charge with two of his 
disciples, that they should always be ready to serve those 
people who had honoured him. Some therefore they 
obliged in their love affairs, and some in other matters. 
At last being taken with the city, and the manners of the 
people, they resolved to make it their place of residence, 
when they contracted a friendship with divers persons, 





EIGHTH DAY 428 


such as were agreeable to their own tempers, without con- 
sidering whether those people were rich or poor at that 
time; and to please those friends they established a society 
of five-and-twenty persons, who were to meet in some place 
that was fixed upon by them, twice at least in a month, 
when every one was to say what he wanted, and they 
supplied him with it that very night. Now_my_friend and 
I, as a particular mark of f; r-te-us;were admitted into 
this_society. And it 1s wonderful to behold the costly 
furniture in the room where we sit, the tables spread in 
a most royal manner, with the great number of goodly 
servants, both men and women, at every one’s command ; 
the basins, flagons, and cups also both of gold and silver, 
in which we eat and drink, and the great variety and 
plenty of victuals which are set before us. It is impossible 
for me to tell you what different musical instruments there 
are, and the delightful melody that we hear; or what 
_ numbers of wax candles are burnt at one of these feasts, 
any more than the immense quantities of sweetmeats con- 
sumed, and the very rich wines which are then drunk. 
Now I would not have you suppose, my dear friend, that 
we appear in the same dress that you behold. No, there 
is not one of us seems less than an emperor, so richly are 
we attired. But of all our pleasures, that of having the 
ladies’ company is the greatest, and who are brought to 
us, according to every one’s desire, from all quarters of the 
world. There you may see the great lady of Barbanicchia, the 
Queen of Baschia, the wife to the great Sultan, the Empress 
of Osbech, the Ciancianfera of Norveca, the Semistante of 
Berlinzone, and the Scalpedra of Narsia. But what need 
have I to recount so many? There are all the queens in 
the world, even to Prester John’s lady. Then observe, now: 
after we have eaten and drunk, and taken a dance or two, 
every one selects that particular lady whom he had desired 
should be sent for: and you must know that the chambers 
_ we retire to are a perfect paradise, and no less odoriferous 
than a perfumer'’s shop; the beds also that we lie in are 
as beautiful as the very best that belongs to the Duke of 
Venice. Do you then judge of our happiness. But none 
seem to fare better at these times than my friend and I, 
OZ, 


426 THE DECAMERON 
for he generally has the Queen of France, a 


e 
Queen of [:ngland, who are the two most beautiful ladies 
in the whole world, and they like no other persons so well 
as us. Imagine, therefore, if we have not reason to be 
merry more than any other people; for, besides having the 
affection of two such queens, if we want a thousand or two 
thousand ins at any time, they immediately supply us. 
And. this we call goin ng a-roving ; for, as the corsairs rob 
and plunder every one they meet, so do we, with this 
difference only, that they make no restitution, which we do 
as soon as it has served our purpose. ‘Thus I have told 
you, master, what we mean by going a-roving: you may 
easily see. how great a secret it is, and so I need say no 
more to you upon that head.” 

The doctor, whose knowledge reached no further, per- 
haps, than to cure children of the itch, gave the same 
credit to this story as he would have done to the most 
established truth, and became as desirous of being ad- 
mitted into this society as he would have been of anything 
in the world: so he told the other that he did not wonder 
to see him so cheerful; and could scarcely refrain from 
asking the favour of being accepted among them, deferring 
it only till he could do it with a better grace. From that 
time therefore he was continually inviting him to dine and 
sup ; and their intimacy was such, that the doctor scarcely 
knew how to live without him. And im return for these 
favours, Bruno, that he might not appear ungrateful, 
painted in his hall the whole story of Lent, an Agnus Dei 
over his chamber-door, and an urinal over the door to the 
street, that people who wanted his advice might know 
where to have it. » He painted also in a little gallery the 
battle of the cats and the rats; which the doctor thought a 
pretty fancy. And some nights, when he happened to sup 
elsewhere, he would say at his return, “I was last night at 
our meeting, when, being displeased with the Queen of 
England, I ordered the gumedra of the great Cham of 
Tartary to be brought me.”—‘“ Pray what does that word 
mean?” quoth the doctor; “I do not understand such 
names.”—“T do not wonder at that,” said Bruno; * for 
Porcograsso and Vannacena take no notice of them.”— 


EIGHTH DAY 427 


“You mean,” quoth the doctor, ‘‘ Ipocrasso and Avicenna.” 
—‘‘ Very likely,” said Bruno; “but I know as little of 
those names as you know of mine. But gumedra is no 
more than empress. O! you would think her a fine 
- woman; she would soon make you forget all your recipes 
and your plaisters.” Talking frequently in this manner to 
excite him the more, and the doctor thinking, one night as 
he held the candle for him whilst he was painting, that he 
was now under sufficient obligations to grant any favours 
he should desire, he resolved to open his mind, as they - 
were alone, and he said, “Bruno, there is nobody that 
I value so much as yourself; nor is there anything you 
could ask, but what I should be ready to oblige you in; then 
be not surprised at my making one request of you. You 
know, not long since, you were telling me of your meetings ; 
now there is nothing I desire so much as to make one 
amongst you, and for a very good reason; for I will bring 
the prettiest girl into your company that you have seen fora 
long time, to whom I have devoted my entire love; and you 
must know I once offered her ten pieces, and she refused 
them. Tell me then, I pray you, what I must do to be 
admitted, and do you take care that I be so, and I promise 
that you shall always find me your true and trusty friend. 
You may observe that my person is proper and good, and 
I am a doctor of physic too, and perhaps you have none 
of that profession among you; moreover I know a great 
many pretty things, and can sing divers pretty songs, as you 
shall hear.” Here he began one, whilst Bruno had much 
ado to keep his countenance, and after he had done he 
asked him what he thought of it. ‘' Most certainly,” 
replied he, “the best violin is no way comparable.”— 
“Then,” quoth the doctor, “‘to this and many other quali- 
fications too tedious to relate at present, 1 may add, that 
my father was a gentleman, though he lived in a country 
village, and my mother of the Vallecchio family. Besides, 
there is no physician in Florence has better clothes, or a 
more complete library than myself; and I give you my 
word, that if you be sick at any time I will cure you for 
nothing.” Bruno, to make him believe that he was more 
intent upon his painting, replied, ‘‘Pray, sir, snuff the 


420 THE DECAMERON 


candle, and let me finish these rats’ tails, and then I will 
talk with you.” When, seeming much displeased with the 
request, he said, “Oh, sir, I have received great favours 
from you, I must confess, and there is nobody I would 
serve sooner; but you ask too much. Now though I 
cannot directly oblige you in what you desire, yet I can put 
you into a method whereby I am very sure you will suc- 
ceed.”’—“ Then tell me,” quoth the doctor; “you don’t 
know how well I can keep a secret. Signor Guasparruolo 
da Saliceto, when he was a judge, entrusted me with many 
things.” —“ Well,” quoth Bruno, “if he trusted you, I may 
do it more securely. The means you are to use are as 
follows: we have a captain and two counsellors, who are 
chosen every six months, and next Christmas Buffalmacco 
will certainly be the captain, and I one of the counsellors. 
Now it isin the captain’s power to admit you if he pleases, 
therefore you should immediately get acquainted with him. 
I know he will be very fond of you, as he is of all men of 
understanding ; and after you have been often in his com- 
pany, and ingratiated yourself with him, you may then ask 
the favour, and he will not know how to refuse you. I 
have given him a character of you already, and he has 
conceived a great regard for you, and when this is done 
you may leave the rest to me.”——‘‘ You say well,” quoth the 
doctor, ‘‘if he delights in people of sense and learning he 
will not miss of his aim: I have enough of both to furnish 
a whole city, and yet leave sufficient for myself.” When 
the matter was thus agreed, Bruno went and related the 
whole to Buffalmacco, who was very impatient to let the 
doctor have what he sought for. Now the doctor, who was 
eager to be concerned, found it no hard matter to get 
acquainted with him; and he began to treat them, both 
noon and night, with everything that was nice and elegant, 
so that they lived entirely upon him; telling him at the 
same time that it was a favour they would show to nobody 
else. At length, when he thought it a fit time, he made 
the same request to Buffalmacco, that he had done before 
to Bruno, who seemed much concerned, and made a great 
clamour at his friend, threatening to break his head for 
betraying those secrets to the doctor. But the doctor 


EIGHTH DAY 429 


excused him very much,- protesting that he had it from 
another person. 

On this he seemed a little more pacified, and said, ‘‘ Dear 
doctor, I plainly see you have been at the university, and 
know how to keep your mouth shut upon occasion ; and I 
farther tell you, that you have not learned your A,B,C, in 
the manner most blockheads do: moreover, if I am _ not 
mistaken, you were born on a Sunday; and though Bruno 
tells me that your study has been physic, yet to me it seems 
as if you had learned to captivate men, which you do by 
your great sense and manner of speaking, far beyond any 
that ever 1 saw.” Here the doctor interrupted him, and 
said, turning to Bruno, “This it is to have to do with 
people of understanding; there are few that could have 
penetrated into the depth of my designs so easily as this 
worthy man has done. You did not take my meaning half 
so soon; but let him know what I said upon your telling 
me that he delighted in people of sense. Do not you 
think I spoke truth at that time?”—‘*No doubt,” replied 
the other. Then said he to Buffalmacco, ‘‘ What wouid you 
have said, had you seen me at Bologna, where were none, 
either great or small, doctor or scholar, but doted on me, 
so much did they:profit by my wise discourses? Nay, more 
than that, I never spoke but they all laughed, so highly 
were they pleased tohear me. And when I came away, they 
expressed the greatest concern imaginable at parting with 
me, and to encourage me to continue with them, offered 
me the sole privilege of reading lectures on medicine to all 
the students. But I refused it, being resolved to come and 
live here upon my estate, which is very considerable.”— 
‘‘ Well,” said Bruno to his friend, ‘‘ what think you now? 
You would not believe me when I told you there was not a 
physician in all this country could cast an ass’s water better 
than himself; nor is there his fellow, I will maintain it, from 
this place to Paris. Go, then, and use all your endeavours 
to gratify him in his request.”—“‘ Bruno is in the right,” 
quoth the doctor ; ‘‘ but here nobody knows me; they are 
all a parcel of ignorant stupid people; but I wish you had 
seen how I appeared among the doctors.”—*“ Indeed, 
Master Doctor,” gquoth Buffalmacco, “you know a great 


430 THE DECAMERON 


deal more than I could have thought; in which respect, 
speaking unto you as becomes me to a person of your under- 
standing and parts, I dare assure you that you shall be one 
of our society.” This promise made him increase his 
favours towards them, and they were extremely diverted 
with his great simplicity, promising that he should have the 
Countess di Civillari! for his mistress, who was the good- 
liest and sweetest creature in the whole world. The doctor 
asked what countess she was. ‘‘Oh,” quoth Buffalmacco 
“she is a very great lady, and there are few houses but 
where she has some jurisdiction. Her officers are all 
about, and store of her great barons are to be seen every- 
where, namely, Tamaguin della Porta,? Don Meta, Manico 
di Scopa, and the rest, whose names have escaped me. 
You shall leave your old mistress then for this lady, of 
whom we will give you the full possession.” 

Now the doctor, who had been brought up at Bologna, 
understood not the meaning of these Florentine terms, 
and so was pleased with the hopes of enjoying what they 
had promised him. Ina little time they brought him the 
news of his being admitted. The day, therefore, that they 
were to have their meeting, he had them both to dine with 
him, and after dinner he asked them in what manner he 
had best go to this assembly. When Buffalmacco replied, 
‘‘It behoves you, master, to proceed resolutely, otherwise 
you may receive an impediment, and do us great injury. 
Now you shall hear in what manner I would have you do so. 
You must contrive to be upon one of those raised tombs 
in New St. Maria’s churchyard, at the time of people’s 
going to sleep, with your best gown on, in order to make a 
figure amongst us at your first appearance, and to verify 
our character of you to the countess, who intends to make 
you a knight of the bath, at her own expense. There you 
must wait till we send for you. And, that you may be 
apprised of everything, I must acquaint you that there will 
be a black-horned beast, of no great stature, come for you, 
capering and dancing about to terrify you; but, after he 


1 This means no more than a common jakes, or the nePels of 
Cloacina. 
§ These are all different words for the same thing. 


EIGHTH DAY 431 


finds you are not to be daunted, he will gently come near 
you, when you may descend from the tomb: and, without 
thinking of heaven, or any of the saints, mount boldly 
upon his back; and, as soon as you shall be seated, lay 
your hands upon your breast, without touching him: he will 
then move easily along, and bring you to us: but if you 
mention anything of a prayer, or express the least fear, he 
_ will throw you down into some noisome place or other, so 
that you had better not attempt it, unless you can depend 
upon your own courage, for you may do us a great deal of 
mischief, and yourself no good.” Said the doctor, “You 
do not know me yet; because I wear a gown you think me 
faint-hearted. Ifyou did but know what I have done some 
nights at Bologna, when I went with some of my com- 
panions to visit the girls there, you would be surprised. 
One night, I assure you, I met with a little young baggage, 
who refused to go along with us, when I dragged her by 
force a considerable way, and afterwards she went willingly 
enough. Another time, I remember, having nobody with 
me but my boy, that I went through the friar’s churchyard, 
after evening prayers, when a woman had been buried there 
that night, and I was not at all afraid. Never fear, therefore, 
but I will be courageous and resolute as you can desire. 
To do you the greater honour, too, I intend to go in the 
scarlet robes in which I commenced doctor, and you will see 
what joy there will be in your assembly at my coming, and 
if I shall not go near to be immediately declared your cap- 
tain. You shall see also how the case will go after I have 
made my appearance, in regard that the countess, having 
as yet never seen me, is so enamoured with me, that she 
will make me a knight of the bath; and as to supporting 
the honour, that you may leave to me.” 


“Very well spoken,” said Buffalmacco: “but take care 
you do not impose upon us, and so »ot come at all, or be 
not found there when we send for you. and I give you 
this caution because the weather o> and you doctors 
love to take care of yourselves.” ‘o, quoth the doctor, 
‘‘T am one of those hardy ones (%«' |» ve no regard for the 
weather, and if I have occasio™ ‘© « »« in the night, I only 


put a fur gown over my dou!«': you need make no 


432 THE DECAMERON 


doubt about it.” As soon as they were departed, and it 
was night, he made some excuse or other to his wife, and 
got away his best gown, which he put on when he thought 
it was the time, and went and stood upon one of the grave- 
stones, it being a very cold night, expecting the beast. 
Whilst Buffalmacco, who was pretty lusty, had _ pro- 
cured a vizard mask, such as they used formerly in farces, 
and he covered himself with a black fur gown, which was 
turned inside out, that he seemed like a bear, only that his 
mask had two horns, and so he had more the appearance 
of the devil. Being thus equipped, he went to the square 
by New St. Maria’s, Bruno following at a distance, to see 
how they went on. And as soon as he found that his 
doctor was there, he fell a-skipping and roaring about as if 
he were mad, which put our physician into a most terrible 
fright, and he began to wish heartily that he was at home 
again. But as he was come out upon this affair, he 
resolved to accomplish it, so urgent was his desire to 
behold the wonders which they had been relating. At 
last, after Buffalmacco had played his tricks for some time, 
he grew a little more quiet, and drew near to the stone 
where the doctor was, and where he stood out of harm’s 
way; whilst he, who shook all over for fear, was in doubt 
whether he should mount or not. Till apprehending that 
some mischief might befall him if he did not, this latter 
fear expelled the former, and coming down from the tomb, 
he mounted upon the beast, praying God to help him, and 
laid his hands upon his breast, as he had been directed. 
Buffalmacco then began to shape his course towards St. 
Maria della Scala, and from thence conducted him, grop- 
ing all the way in the dark, as far as the Ladies of Ripole. 
Hereabouts were divers ditches, made by the husbandmen 
to empty the Countess di Civillari into, for the sake of 
manuring their lands afterwards. Buffalmacco then being 
come to the brink of one of them, and putting his hand 
under one of the doctor’s feet, pitched him headlong in, 
when he began to make a terrible noise, stamping and 
roaring about, and so went back by. St. Maria della Scala, 
towards Prata d’Ogni Santi, where he met with Bruno, who 
had been forced to leave him, because he could not hold 


EIGHTH DAY 433 


from laughing, and both turned back once more, to see 
how the poor doctor would behave in that condition; 
the, finding himself in such a place, laboured with 
2ll his might to get released, but falling sometimes on 
one side, and sometimes on the other, he was all over 
imbrued ; till at length, with the utmost difficulty, he made 
shift to scramble out with the loss of his hood, When he 
cleaned himself as well as he could, and not knowing what 
. other course to take, he went home, and knocked at the 
door till they let him in. The door was no sooner shut 
again, but Bruno and Buffalmacco were there listening to 
hear what a reception the doctor would meet with from his 
wife, who met him with all the bad language she could 
devise, saying, ‘‘ You are in a fine condition, truly—what, 
you have been with some other woman, and so had a mind 
to make a figure in your scarlet robes!—Am not I enough 
for you? l-wish you had been choked when you fell into 
all that nastiness. Here is a fine physician indeed! who 
is not content with his own wife, but must be running out 
at night after other women.” With these and such like 
words she rallied him till midnight, when she had him 
washed and made clean. The next morning Bruno and 
Buffalmacco came with their bodies all painted over with 
blue spots, as if they had been beaten, to his house, when 
they found him just risen out of bed, and everything in a 
sad condition. He seeing them coming, went and wished 
them a good morning; but they seeming much out of 
temper, replied, ‘‘ We wished you had been hanged for a 
sorry man as you are; we have been near losing our lives, 
meaning to do you honour, being beaten like two asses, 
and in danger of being excluded our assembly, where we 
would have had you introduced. If you will not believe 
us, pray behold our bodies:” so taking him into a corner, 
where there was not much light, they just opened their 
bosoms for him to see, and immediately buttoned them up 
again. The doctor endeavoured to have excused himself, 
and was telling them of his misfortunes, and where he had 
been thrown. When Bufialmacco said, ‘I wish you had 
been thrown from the bridge into the river; what had you 
to do with prayers? Were, not: you told. of that» before- 


434 THE DECAMERON 


hand ?”—‘' Indeed,” quoth he,. “1 used no prayers.”— 
‘How do you say! no prayers!” answered the others; 
‘‘T am sure our, messenger told us that you prayed and 
trembled like an aspen leaf. We will never be served so 
again, either by you or any one else; nor must you expect 
ever any more to have such favours showed you.” The 
doctor here began to ask pardon, entreating them not to 
resent it; and, lest they should expose him, by making it 
public, he entertained them at his house more than ever. 
And thus our doctor was taught something more than he 
had learned at Bologna. 


NOVEL X 


A certain Sicilian damsel cheats a merchant of all the money he had 
taken for his goods at Palermo. Afterwards he pretends to return 
with a greater stock of goods than before; when he contrives to 
borrow a large sum of money of her, leaving sham pledges for her 
security. 


How much they were all diverted with the queen’s novel it is 
needless to say; and it being now ended, Dioneus began in 
this manner :— 

It is certain that. those stratagems are the more enter- 
taining, the more cunning and artful the person is who is 
imposed upon by them. Therefore, though the other novels 
have been agreeable enough, yet 1 think to relate one that 
will please you better ; inasmuch as the lady outwitted was 
a greater mistress of those devices than any of the persons 
before-mentioned. 

It was formerly a custom, and may be still, in seaport 
towns, for all the merchants that come thither to bring their 
goods into a common warehouse, under the keeping of the 
community, or else the lord of the town; when they give a 
particular account, in writing, of the nature and value of 
them: the goods are kept under lock and key, and the 
account entered in a register, for the merchants to pay the 
accustomed dues, as all or part are sold, and delivered out 
of the warehouse. From this register the brokers are 
informed both of the quantity and quality of the goods, 


EIGHTH’ DAY 435 


and also who are the owners, to treat with for them, either 
by exchange, truck, or sale. .This was the way at Palermo, 
as well asin many other places, where was likewise great 
plenty of handsome women, not overstored with modesty. 
And yet, to all appearance, many of them were grand ladies, 
and pretended to a character: who, making it their whole 
employ to shave, and even skin, such men as fell into their 
clutches, no sooner did they see a strange merchant, but 
they would inform themselves from that register, both of 
the nature and value of his goods; when by their amorous 
wiles, they would endeavour to bring him to their lure, 
which they often did; and some have been choused out of 
part of their goods ; others have lost ship, goods, and body, 
to boot; so finely have they been touched over by these 
cunning shavers. Now it happened not long since, that 
a certain young Florentine, called Niccolo da Cigniano, 
though more usually Salabaetto, arrived there by way of 
factor, with as much woollen cloth, which had been left 
unsold at the fair of Salerno, as might be worth five hun- 
dred florins ; and having given in his account to the officers, 
and laid his goods safely up in the warehouse, he was in no 
great haste to despatch his business, but took a turn up 
and down the town to amuse himself. Being a personable 
young man, one of these female barterers that we have 
been speaking of, called Madam Jiancofiore, having heard 
something of his affairs, soon took notice of him, which he 
perceiving, and supposing she was some great lady who 
had taken a fancy to him, resolved to conduct the affair 
with the utmost caution ; so without: saying a word to any 
one, he used to take his walks frequently by her house. 
She was soon sensible of this, and when she thought. his 
affection towards her fully secured, under pretence of 
languishing for him, she sent one of her women to him, 
an adept in that sort of business, who told him, with tears 
in her eyes, that her lady was so in love with him, that she 
could get no rest night or day; therefore she desired very 
much, whenever he would do her that favour, to meet her 
at a bagnio; and with these words she took a ring out of 
her purse, and gave it him as a token. Salabaetto was 
overjoyed at the message: so taking the ring, and looking 


436 THE DECAMERON 


carefully. at it, and kissing it, he put it upon his finger, and 
said, “If your lady loves me as you say, be assured she 
has not misplaced her affection, for I love her more than I 
do my own life, and shall be ready to meet her at any time 
and place she shall appoint.” She had no sooner reported 
this answer, but she was posted back to tell him that her 
mistress would meet him at such a bagnio that evening. 
Accordingly he went thither at the time fixed, and found 
it engaged for that lady’s use. He had not waited long 
before two women ‘slaves came, the one loaded with a fine 
cotton mattress and the other a hamper full of things. This 
mattress they laid upon a bed in one of the chambers, 
covering it with a pair of sheets, curiously edged with 
silk, and over the whole was spread a rich Grecian 
counterpane, with two pillows, worked) in a most 
delicate manner; after which they went into the 
bath, and cleaned it very carefully. The lady now came 
attended by two slaves, and after some sighs and embraces, 
she said, ‘‘My dear Tuscan, there is nobody could have 
obtained this favour from me but yourself;” so they went 
into the bath together, and with them two of their slaves, 
who washed them with soap, scented with musk and gilli- 
flowers. The other slaves then brought two fine sheets, 
smelling of nothing but roses, in one of which they 
wrapped Salabaetto, and in the other the lady, and carried 
them to bed, where, after they had lain some time to per- 
spire, those sheets were taken away, and they were left 
between the others. After this, they took out of the 
hamper silver canisters of rose, orange, and jessamine 
water, which they sprinkled upon the bed, and presented 
them with sweetmeats and rich wines, by way of collation: 
he all the time thought himself in paradise, wishing heartily 
that they would go away, and leave him in possession of 
his mistress. At length they left a taper light in his 
chamber, and departed. After they had lain a convenient 
time, the servants returned, and put on their clothes ; and 
when they had taken some more refreshment of wine and 
sweetmeats, and washed their hands and faces with orange 
water, as they were going to depart, she said, “If it be 
agreeable to you, I should be vastly pleased if you would 


EIGHTH DAY 437 


come and sup with me, and stay all night.” When he, 
supposing himself as dear to her as her own heart, replied, 
““Madam, whatever is pleasing to you, is entirely so to me; 
now, therefore, and at all times, I shall be ready to obey 
your commands.” So she went home, and had her apart- 
ment richly set out, and provided a costly supper for him ; 
who accordingly went thither as soon as it was dark, and 
was very elegantly received; and after supper they went 
into a chamber scented with costly odours, where was a 
most noble bed, and everything besides that was grand 
and sumptuous. All which made him conclude that she 
was some very great and rich lady. And though he had 
heard various reports about her, yet he would not believe 
them for the world; nay, had he been convinced of her 
tricking other people, he could never have been made to 
believe that she would serve him so. He stayed with her 
then all that night, and the next morning she made him a 
present of a fine wrought belt and purse, saying to him, 
** My dear Salabaetto, fare you well; and from henceforth 
be persuaded, as you are entirely to my good liking, that 
my person and all I possess are at your service.” He then 
took his leave with great satisfaction, and went to the place 
where the merchants usually resort. And continuing his 
visits to her without any expense, and becoming every day 
more enamoured, it happened that he sold his cloth and 
gained considerable profit; which she being immediately 
apprised of, not from himself, but other hands, as he was 
with her one night, she seemed to express a more than 
ordinary fondness for him, and would needs make him a 
present of two beautiful silver cups, worth about thirty 
florins, which he refused to accept; having had divers 
things of her before, to the value of thirty more, without 
giving her the worth of a single farthing. At last, after 
she had set him all on fire, as it were, with this extra- 
ordinary love and liberality, she was called out by one of 
her slaves, as she had contrived beforehand, when she 
returned in a little time full of tears, and throwing herself 
down upon the bed, she seemed to grieve most immoder- 
ately. Salabaetto was under the greatest astonishment, 
and taking her in his arms, he began to say, “ Alas! my 


438 THE DECAMERON 


dear heart, what is it that has happened to you thus sud- 
denly? Tell me, my life, I entreat you, do.” She at last 
replied, ‘My dear lord, I know neither what to do, nor 
what to say. I have just received letters from Messina, 
wherein my brother informs me, that, though I pawn all I 
have, I must, without fail, remit a thousand florins of gold 
in eight days; otherwise he must inevitably lose his head. 
Now I find it impossible to raise the money upon so short 
a notice: had I but fifteen days, I could procure it from a 
place whence I could command even a greater sum; or I 
could sell some of my lands: but as it cannot now be 
done, I wish I had been in my grave rather than live to 
know this trouble;” and she continued weeping; whilst 
Salabaetto whose love had taken away his understanding, 
thinking that her tears were real, and what she said was 
true, made answer: “ Madam, I am unabie to furnish you 
with a thousand, but with five hundred I can, as you think 
you will be able to pay me in fifteen days: and it is your 
good fortune that I happened to sell my cloth yesterday, 
otherwise I could not have spared you one farthing.”— 
“ Alas,” quoth the lady, ‘‘then have you been in want of 
money? Why did not you speak to me? For though I 
have not a thousand, I have always a hundred or two to 
spare for you. You deprive me of the assurance to accept 
your proffered favour.” He, quite captivated with these 
fine speeches, made answer, ‘“‘ Madam, you shall have it 
nevertheless ; had I been in the like circumstance I should 
have applied to you.”—‘' Dear me!” she replied, ‘‘I: am 
convinced of your most constant and entire love towards 
me, to supply me with such a sum of your own accord: I 
was yours before, and now. am much more so; nor shall I 
ever forget that it is to you I am indebted for my brother’s 
life. But Heaven knows I accept it very unwillingly, con- 
sidering that you are a merchant, and must have occasion 
for a great deal of ready money; but being constrained by 
necessity, and assured also that I shall be able to return it 
at your time, I will make use of it; and I will pawn all my 
houses rather than fail in my engagement to you.” With 
these words she fell down, weeping, in his arms. He did 
all he could to comfort her, and stayed with her all that 


EIGHTH DAY 439 


night ; and the next morning, to show what a liberal lover 
he was, and without waiting for any further request, brought 
her the five hundred florins, which she received with 
laughter in her heart, though with tears in her eyes, he 
looking only to her simple promise... But after she had 
got the money, the times were soon changed ; and whereas 
before he had free admittance to her as often as he pleased, 
now reasons were given that he could not get a sight of her 
once in seven times that he went; nor did he meet with 
those smiles and caresses, nor with the same generous 
reception, as:before. Moreover, the time limited was past, 
and one or two months over, and when he demanded. his 
money he could get nothing but words by way of payment. 
Whilst he, now sensible of the arts of this wicked woman, 
as well as of his own want of sense, and knowing that he had 
no proof against her, but what she herself would please to 
acknowledge, there being nothing of any writing between 
them, was ashamed.to make his complaint to any one, both 
because he had notice of it before, and also on account of 
the disgrace he must undergo for his monstrous credulity ; 
so he continued uneasy and disconsolate to the last degree. 
And receiving frequent letters from his masters, in which 
he was required to get bills of exchange for the money, and 
remit to them, he resolved, to prevent a discovery, to leave 
the place ; and he embarked on board a little vessel, not 
for Pisa, as he should have done, but for Naples. 

At that time lived there Signor Pietro della Canigiano, 
treasurer to the Empress of Constantinople, a very subtle, 
sensible man, and a great friend to Salabaetto and his 
masters: to whom he made his case known, requesting his 
assistance in getting himself a livelihood, and declaring that 
he would never more return to F lorence, Canigiano, who 
was much concerned for him, replied, ‘‘You have done 
very ill ; very ill indeed have you behaved yourself: small 
is the regard which you have showed to your principles, too 
much have you expended upon your pleasures. Iti is done, 
however, and we must remedy it as well as wecan.” Then, 
like a prudent man, he considered what course it was best 
to take, and acquainted him with it. Salabaetto was 
pleased with the scheme, and resolved to follow it ; and 


440 THE DECAMERON 


having some money of his own, and Canigiano lending him 
some, he made divers bales of goods well packed together, 
and procured about twenty casks for oil, which he filled, 
and returned'with them to Palermo, where he entered them 
as on his own account in the register, with what value he 
pleased to put upon them; and he laid them up in the 
warehouse, declaring that they were not to be meddled with 
till more goods of his should arrive, which he was daily 
expecting. The lady hearing of this, and understanding 
that the goods he had already there were worth two 
thousand florins, and that what remained to come were 
rated at three thousand more, began to think that she had 
as yet got too little from him; therefore she thought of 
returning the five hundred to come in for a better part of 
the five thousand, and accordingly she sent for him. He 
went with malice in his heart, whilst she, seeming to know 
nothing of what he had brought, appeared wonderfully 
pleased at seeing him, and said, ‘‘ Now, were you really 
vexed because I failed giving you your money at your 
time?” He smiled, and replied, “In truth, madam, I was 
a little uneasy, since I would pluck my very heart out if I 
thought it would please you ; but you shall see how much 
I was offended. Such is my regard for you, that I have 
sold the greatest part of my estate, and have brought as 
much merchandise as is worth two thousand florins, and 1 
expect from the Levant what will amount to three thousand 
more; resolving to have a warehouse, and to abide here, 
for the sake of being near you, as I think nobody can be 
happier in their love than I am in yours.” She then 
replied, “‘ Now trust me, Salabaetto, whatever redounds to 
your benefit is extremely pleasing to me, as I hold you 
dearer than my own life; and I am glad you are returned 
with an intention of staying, because I hope to have a great 
deal of your company; but it is fit that I excuse myself to 
you, in that sometimes you came to see me, and were not 
admitted, and at other times not so cheerfully received as 
before ; and besides this, for my not paying you the money 
according to promise. Now you must know that I was 
then in very great trouble, and upon such occasions, be 
one’s love what it will, one cannot look so pleasantly as at 


EIGHTH DAY 441 


another time: I must tell you likewise that it is a very 
difficult thing fora lady to raise a thousand florins, people 
impose upon us in that manner, without ever minding what 
they promise; so that we are forced to deceive others. 
Hence it is, therefore, and for no other reason, that I did 
not return you your money; but I had got it ready just as 
you went away, and would have sent it after you, had I 
_ known where to have found you; but as I did not, I kept 
it carefully for you.” So sending for a purse, which had 
the very same florins in it, that he had delivered to her, she 
put it into his hand, saying, ‘‘See, and count if there are 
five hundred.” Never was Salabaetto so overjoyed as at 
that present time; so telling them over, and finding there 
were just five hundred, he replied, ‘Madam, I am con- 
vinced that what you say is true; but let us talk no more 
about it, you have done your part, and I.assure you, upon 
that account, as well as the love I have for you, that what- 
ever sum of money you shall want at any time, if it be in 
my power to supply you, you may command it; as you 
may soon see upon trial.” Thus their love being renewed, 
in word at least, he continued artfully his visits as before; 
whilst she showed him all the respect and honour that 
could be, expressing the same fondness as ever. But he, 
willing to return measure for measure, being invited one 
night to sup with her, went thither all sad and melancholy, 
like a person in despair. When she kissing and embracing 
him, would needs know the cause of all that sorrow. He, 
having suffered her to entreat him for some time, at last 
said, ‘I am undone, for the ship which had the goods on 
board, that I have been expecting, is taken by the corsairs 
of Monaco, and put up at the ransom of ten thousand 
florins, one thousand of which falls to my share, and I have 
not one farthing to pay it with; for the five hundred which 
you paid me, I sent instantly to Naples, to lay out in cloth 
to be sent hither, and were I to offer to sell the goods I 
have here, as it is an improper time, I must do it to very 
great loss, and being a stranger, I have nobody to apply 
to; so that I know neither what to say nor what to do, and 
if the money be not sent immediately, they will be carried 
into Monaco, and then they will be past redemption.” 


442 THE DECAMERON 


She was under great concern at hearing this, reckoning a 
good part of it as lost to herself; and considering how to 
prevent the goods ‘being sent to Monaco, at last she said, 
*‘Heaven knows how much my love for you makes. me 
grieve for your misfortune. But to what purpose is that? 
Had I the money, I would instantly give it-you, but I have 
not. : Indeed there is a person that lent me five hundred 
florins the other day, when I was in distress, but he expects 
an exorbitant interest, viz.,.no less than thirty in~ the 
hundred. If you will have the money of this, man, you 
must give him good:security. Now-l am ready to pledge 
my goods here, and pass my word as far as that will. go 
to serve you; but how will you secure the remainder?” 
Salabaetto knew the reason of her proposing this piece of 
service, and that she herself was to lend the money; so 
being well pleased, he returned -her thanks, and said, that 
let the interest be what it would, his necessity was. such 
that he must agree to it; then he added, that he would 
make a security by his goods which he had in the. ware- 
house, and that they should be assigned over in the-register 
to the person who advanced the money, but that he would 
keep the key, as well for the sake of showing them, if any- 
body should want to see them, as to prevent their being 
exchanged or meddled with. The lady replied, ‘ You 
speak extremely well, the security is sufficient ;” and at the 
time appointed she sent for a broker, in whom she put 
great confidence, when she told him what he was to do, and 
gave him the money, which he carried straightway to 
Salabaetto, who assigned over his goods to him at the 
custom-house, and they were entered in his name; thus 
they parted, giving each other counter-security. Salabaetto 
now immediately embarked with the fifteen hundred florins 
and went to Pietro dello Canigiano at Naples, from whence 
he remitted to his masters at Florence the entire account 
of what he had made of their cloth; and having paid Pietro 
and every one else what he owed them, they laughed very 
heartily together at the trick put upon his Sicilian mistress. 
From thence, resolving to trade no longer, he went to 
Florence. In the meantime; the lady, finding Salabaetto 
was not at Palermo, began to wonder, and grow half- 


EIGHTH DAY 443 


suspicious; and, after waiting two months, and hearing 
nothing of his return, she made the broker force open the 
warehouse, when first she tried the casks, which she sup- 
posed had been full of oil, and found them full of. salt 
water, with a small quantity of oil at the top, just at the 
bung-hole. She then looked into the bales of goods, only 
_ two of which had cloth in them; and the rest were stuffed 
with coarse hurds of hemp; that, in short, the whole was 
not worth two hundred florins. So she, finding herself 
thus imposed upon, was under great affliction for a long 
time with regard to the five hundred florins that she had 
restored, and much more for the thousand she had lent, 
often saying, that whoever had to do with a Tuscan had 
need of all their eyes about them. Thus she became a 
common jest afterwards, having found to her cost that some 
people have as much cunning as others. 

After Dioneus had made an end, Lauretta, knowing 
that her reign was concluded, and having commended the 
good advice of Pietro Canigiano, as appeared by its effect, 
and the sagacity of Salabaetto, no less to be admired in 
putting it in execution, took the crown from her own head, 
and placed it upon Emilia, saying, “ Madam, I do not 
know whether you will make a pleasant queen or not, but 
a pretty one I am sure you will. See then that your works 
correspond with your beauty.” 

Emilia, not so much for the honour conferred upon her, 
as for hearing herself commended on account of that which 
ladies most of all covet, blushed a little, seeming like the 
opening of a rose in the morning ; but after she had turned 
her eyes down to the ground, till the redness was some- 
thing gone off, and having given her orders to the master 
of the household, concerning what she would have done, 
she began in this manner: “ We often see, ladies, that after 
oxen have laboured at the yoke all the day, they are then 
turned loose, and permitted to graze through the forests at 
their pleasure. It is also certain that gardens, which have 
a variety of trees in them, are more delightful than groves, 
where nothing is seen but oaks: for which reasons, con- 
sidering how many days we have been confined to certain 
laws, it may be convenient for us all to take a little liberty, 


444 THE DECAMERON 


to refresh and gain strength against our returning to the 
yoke. I shall, therefore, give you no particular subject for 
to-morrow, but leave you all to please yourselves, being of 
opinion that a variety of things will be no less entertaining 
than keeping strictly to one. My successor, if he pleases, 
may keep to the old laws.” She then gave them leave to 
depart till supper-time. The queen’s order was generally 
approved, and they went to their different amusements. 
The ladies made nosegays and chaplets of flowers, and the 
gentlemen sat down to play, or else to sing ; and thus they 
were employed till supper, when they placed themselves by 
the fountain-side, and supped very merrily together. After- 
wards they began to dance and sing, when the queen, to 
pursue the method of her predecessors, besides what many 
of them had voluntarily given, ordered Pamphilus to sing 
a song, which he did as follows :— 


SONG 


I 


Such the abundant am’rous joy 
With which my heart elate hath been, 
As no restraint, no bounds to know, 
And flushing in my face is seen ! 


II 


In vain my feeble song essays 
To paint what cannot be expressed 3 
And which more fully to have known, 
Would bring but jealousy at best. 


II! 


Could I have formed a wish like this, 
My utmost hope have reached so far, 
To clasp her yielding taper waist, 
And press my eager lips to her? 


Every one joined in Pamphilus’s song; nor was there 
any among them but made more conjectures than were 
necessary, to find out what he meant to conceal; and 
though they imagined different things, yet none of them 
was in the right. But the queen, seeing the song was 
ended, and that the company were disposed to rest, gave 
orders for them all to retire to bed. 


THE NINTH DAY 


Aurora had now changed the heavens from blue to purple, 
and the flowers along the meadows began to cpen to the 
rising sum, when the queen arose with all her company; 
and they took a walk together to a grove, not far from the 
palace, where they saw a variety of creatures, such as deer, 
goats, &c., so secure from the hunter, by reason of the then 
raging pestilence, that they stood gazing upon them as if 
they had been tame. Upon a nearer approach, first to one, 
and then to another, as if they meant to play with them, 
they were greatly delighted to see them run and skip about 
them. But the sun being now risen to a good height, it 
was thought convenient to return. They had all oak gar- 
lands on, with their hands full of flowers, or sweet-smelling 
herbs ; so that whoever had seen them must needs have 
concluded, either that death would not be able to vanquish 
them, or at least that he would find them no otherwise than 
merry. In this manner they came step by step to the 
palace, laughing, joking, and singing, all the way, where 
they found everything in order; and, after reposing them- 
selves awhile, they sung half-a-dozen songs before they 
would sit down to table. They then washed their hands, 
and dinner was served up; when, being sufficiently regaled, 
and after indulging in a dance or two, the queen gave leave 
for such as were so disposed to go to rest. At the usual 
hour they met at the usual place, when the queen, looking 
on Philomena, desired her to begin for that day, which she 
did in this manner :— 


445 


446 THE DECAMERON 


NOVEL I 


Madam Francesca having two lovers, and liking neither of them, rids 
herself of both by making one go and lie down in a person’s grave, 
and sending the other to fetch him out. 


I am well pleased, madam, as it is your will, to run the first 
ring, in this free and open field of relating novels, in which 
your courtesy has placed us, not doubting, if I perform 
well, but that they who come after will do as well or better. 
It has often been made appear in our discourses, how great 
the force of love is; nor do I think the subject would be 
exhausted were we to talk of nothing else from year’s end 
to year’s end: because it hath led its -votaries not only 
ito various dangers of death, but even into the very man- 
sions ‘of the dead. I. purpose to add a story to what has 
been already given, wherein, besides the power of love, will 
be shown the contrivance of a certain lady to rid herself 
of. two lovers, who were neither of them to her liking: 

In the city of Pistoia there was a handsome widow lady, 
whom two of our townsmen, who were banished thither 
from hence, were desperately in love with, and who’ used 
their utmost endeavours to gain her affection; ‘the one 
named Rinuccio Palermino, ang the other Alessandro 
Chiarmontesi. Now this lady, who was called Francesca 
de’ Lazari, had been often solicited by them, when she 
listened too hastily to their importunities ; and being after- 
wards desirous to quit herself of those engagements, with- 
out being able to dovit, it came into her head at last to ask 
a piece of service of them, which, though possible to be 
done, she: supposed neither would undertake, and ‘that, 
from their not complying, she might haye a just pretence 
for turning them adrift.. The thing was this:— 

The very day that she first thought of it,a man was 
buried at Pistoia, who, though of a good family, was reputed 
to have been one of the vilest wretches that ever was born: 
moreover, he was so deformed, that they who did not know 
him would have been frightened at the first sight of him. 
This circumstance, she thought, fell in very aptly with her 
design ; therefore, she said to her maid: 


NINTH DAY 447 


‘Thou knowest what plague and trouble I have had with 
these two 'Florentines ; now I have a mind’ to have neither 
the one nor the other. In order, then, to shake them. off, 
I intend to make a trial of them in a certain affair which I 
am confident they will refuse to do, and thou. shalt: hear 
what it is. Last might thou knowest, was interred in the 
churchyard belonging to the lesser friars, Scannadio (for so 
was the man called whom we have been speaking of), who, 
even when alive, was frightful to most people. Do thou 
go, then, privately, to Alessandro, and say that thy mistress 
orders thee to acquaint him that the time is now come 
when he may be secure of her love, in the following 
manner :—That one of her relations, for a reason which he 
will know afterwards, is to bring that: man’s: corpse to her 
house, ‘which she is much averse to; therefore she begs it 
as a favour of him, that he would go, about the beginning 
of the night, into the grave, and put the man’s shroud on, 
waiting there till the person comes to take him away, which 
he is to suffer him to do, without speaking a word, and to 
let him carry him to her house, where she will be ready to 
receive him;*and the rest he may leave to her. If he 
agrees to it,.it is well; but if he refuse, charge him at his 
peril not'to come any more in her sight, or to trouble her 
with his messages. After this, thou’ must go to Rinuccio, 
and tell him that thy mistress is ready to gratify him upon 
condition that he will do her one piece of service, which is 
to fetch Scannadio out of‘his grave about midnight, and 
bring him to her house, the meaning of which he-will see at 
that time; and if he should refuse, that he offer to come 
no more near her.” The maid obeyed, and: going to both, 
delivered her messages... They replied, that they would not 
only go into a grave, but even to hell, if it was. her. desire. 
She accordingly reported their answers to the lady, who was 
waiting to see if they would be such fools.as to do'so.. At 
night, therefore, Alessandro stripped into ‘his waistcoat and 
went to supply Scannadio’s place in the .vault, when he was 
seized ‘with sudden terror by the way, and began to say to 
himself, ‘What a foolam I! Whither am I going? How 
do I knowbut'this is a trap laid by some of her-relations, 
who have made a discovery of my love, to murder me in the 


448 THE DECAMERON 


vault, which may be effected, and nobody know anything 
of the matter;. or how can I be assured but it is. a 
stratagem of some rival, whom she may love better than me? 
But suppose again, on the other hand, that none of these 
things are intended, and that her relations carry me to her 
house, I must conclude that they cannot want Scannadio’s 
body, either to keep themselves or to present to her, but 
rather that they mean to mangle it, it having deserved such 
treatment from them. She also enjoins me not to speak 
a word, whatever shall be done to me. But suppose they 
pluck out my eyes, or lop off my hands, how can I. bear 
that? and should I cry out, and they know me, they might 
then use me ill; or, otherwise, they may not leave me: with 
the lady, and so she may pretend that I have disobeyed her 
orders, and my labour will be all lost.” Full of these 
reflections, he was on the point of returning home, till his 
love spurred him on with more prevailing arguments to the 
contrary, and he hurried along to the vault, which he 
opened, and having entered, he stripped the dead body, 
and put on the shroud; and, after he had closed the grave 
again, he laid himself down in Scannadio’s place, when 
calling to mind the man’s character, and the reports which 
he had heard of his ransacking people’s graves, and com- 
mitting all kinds of villainy, he was so terrified that his hair 
stood on end, and he was expecting every moment that the 
man should rise up and strangle him there. Yet still his 
love got the better of his fear, and he lay as if he was 
dead, waiting for the event. As soon as it was midnight, 
Rinuccio went out also to obey his mistress’s commands ; 
and as he passed along, he began to think of many things 
which might happen to him; particularly his being met by 
the sheriff's officers with Scannadio’s body on his back, and 
so punished for sacrilege, or else his falling under the 
resentment of the man’s relations, if they should chance to 
know it; with more such apprehensions, enough ‘to have 
deterred him from the enterprise. Till considering with 
himself, he said, ‘‘ What, and shall I say no to the lady’s 
first request, whom I have loved, and do still love so much; 
especially as it 1s to gain her favour?. Undoubtedly, were 
I sure to die in the attempt, I would fulfil my promise.” 


NINTH DAY | 449 


Full of that resolution, he went to the grave, and opened 
it. Alessandro, though he was very much frightened, lay 
still nevertheless. Whilst Rinuccio, thinking that it was 
Scannadio’s body, took Alessandro by the feet, and drew 
him out, and hoisting him upon his shoulders, he went on 
towards Francesco’s house. But carrying him along without 
any great care, he would frequently hit him a great thump 
against the wall, first on one side, and then on the other: 
the night also was so dark, that he scarcely knew where he 
went ; and being now got to the door, and she sitting with 
her maid at the window, expecting their coming, and pre- 
pared to send them about their business, it happened that 
the officers were waiting there, to take a certain outlaw, 
when, hearing the noise of Rinuccio’s steps, they drew out 
their lanterns to see who it was, whilst they raised up their 
halberds, and cried out, ‘‘Who is there?” Rinuccio, upon 
this, without any great deliberation, threw his burden down, 
and ran away as fast as his legs could carry him. 
Alessandro too got up as speedily as he could, though the 
dead man’s clothes were a good deal too long for him, and 
made off as well as the other.—Now the lady saw plainly, 
by the officers’ light, how Rinuccio had the other upon his 
back, with the dead man’s shroud on, and was astonished 
at the resolution of both; laughing heartily, however, as 
soon as she saw Alessandro thrown down, and that each 
of them took to his heels. And being thankful for her 
deliverance, she returned into her chamber, declaring to 
her maid, that surely their love must be very great to fulfil 
such conditions. Rinuccio stayed at a distance, cursing 
his hard fortune, till the officers were gone, when he came 
groping about to find where he had thrown Alessandro 
down, desiring to complete his commands ; but not meeting 
with him, and supposing that the officers had taken him 
away, he departed, vexed at his disappointment. Ales- 
sandro, also, not knowing what to do, and being ignorant 
who the person was that had carried him thither, went home 
with the like concern. And in the Morning scannadio’s 
vault being found open, and the body not seen therein, 
‘because Alessandro had rolled it to the bottom, the town 
was all in an uproar about it, many people believing that 
: P 


y 


450 THE DECAMERON 


the devil had certainly carried him off. Nevertheless, both 
the lovers signified to the lady what they had done, and how 
they had been disappointed, excusing themselves thereby 
for not having fully executed her commands, and still 
entreating her favour and love: whilst she, seeming to credit 
neither, cut them both short with an absolute denial, in- 
asmuch as both had failed im the performance of the 
conditions required. 


NOVEL II 


An abbess, going in haste, and in the dark, to surprise one of her nuns, 
instead of her vetl, puts on the priest's breeches. The lady accused 
makes a just remark upon this, and so escapes. 


PHILOMENA was now silent, and the lady’s contrivance to 
free herself from two troublesome people, whom she could 
not love, generally approved; their daring presumption 
being judged the effect, not of love, but folly. When the 
queen pleasantly said, “Eliza, do you follow;” who 
immediately began:—The lady you have just mentioned 
saved herself very dexterously from trouble; but a cer- 
tain nun escaped the most imminent danger by a word 
or two aptly spoken, more through her good fortune. 
There are many simple people who prove the rigid masters 
and correctors of others, whom fortune takes occasion 
sometimes very justly to expose and humble, as was the 
case of the abbess, under whose government the nun was, 
of whom I am going to speak. 

In Lombardy was a monastery, famous for its sanctity; 
and amongst the other nuns belonging to it was a lady, 
named Isabella, of exquisite beauty, as well as of a noble 
family, who had fallen in love with a young gentleman that 
came witha relation of hers to see her at the grate. He 
also had conceived the same affection for her, and this 
love continued some time without effect, to the great con- 
cern of both. At last he thought of a way to get to her, and 
continued visiting her in that manner till he was discovered 
by one of the ladies. She communicated the affair to some 
others ; and first, they were resolved to accuse her to the 


NINTH DAY ; 451 


abbess, a worthy good lady in the opinion of the nuns and 
other people that knew her: but afterwards, for fear she 
should deny it; it was agreed that the abbess should sur- 
prise them together; and so they kept watch by turns, in 
order to find them out. One night, therefore, Isabella 
having her lover in her chamber, without the least sus- 
picion of their designs, the scouts immediately perceived 
it, and dividing themselves into parties, one guarded the 
entrance into her room, whilst the other ran to the lady 
abbess’s chamber, when, knocking at the door, they cried, 
“Pray, madam, get up as quick as you can, for our sister 
Isabella has a man in her apartments.” Now that night it 
happened that the abbess had a priest with her, who had 
been frequently brought to her in a chest; and fearing lest, 
out of their great hurry and eagerness, they might force the 
door open, she immediately arose, and dressed herself as 
well as she could in the dark; and thinking that she had 
taken a certain plaited veil, which she usually wore, she 
chanced to lay hold of the priest’s breeches, and threw them 
over her head in its stead. She now went forth, and 
locking the door after her, she said, ‘‘ Where is this wicked 
woman?” Away then she posted along with the nuns, who 
were so zealous and intent upon finding out poor Isabella, 
that they never took notice of what she had upon her 
head : and coming to her chamber, they found her and her 
lover together, who were so confounded that they could 
not speak a word. She was then taken and carried to the 
chapter-house, the young gentleman being left in the 
chamber, waiting to see what the end would be, and 
resolving to revenge himself, if any harm was offered to his 
mistress, and afterwards to take her away. 

The abbess having taken her place in the chapter, with 
her nuns about her, who had all their eyes only on the 
guilty person, she began to give her a most severe repri- 
mand for having defiled, as she told her, by her most dis- 
orderly and wicked actions, the sanctity, honesty, and good 
name of the monastery, adding thereto most bitter threats. 
The lady, quite confounded between fear and shame, was 
able to make no defence, moving many of them to com- 
passion with her silence; but the abbess still continuing 


452 THE DECAMERON 


her abuses, she happened to raise up her head, when 
she saw the breeches hanging on each side of the abbess’s 
neck, and being a little comforted with that, as she con- 
jectured the fact, she said, “‘ Please, madam, to button your 
coif, and then tell me what you would have.” “ What coif is 
that you mean?” replied she, ‘you wicked woman, you! 
Have you the assurance to laugh at me? Do you think 
jests will serve your turn in such an affair as this?” The 
lady said once more, *‘I beg, madam, that you would first 
button your coif, and then speak.” Upon which they all 
perceived Isabella’s meaning. And the abbess, finding that 
she was detected of the very same crime, soon changed her 
note, and began to excuse and palliate the matter. So she 
returned to her priest, as Isabella did to her lover. And 
- they continued their interviews together, in spite of all such 
as envied their happiness, whilst the rest procured them. 
selves lovers as soon as they could. : 


NOVEL Iil 


Master Simon the doctor, with Bruno, and the vest, make Calandrino 
believe that he ts with child; who gives them fowls and money to 
compose a medicine for him; and he recovers without being delivered. 


AFTER Eliza had concluded her novel, and the company 
all expressed their joy for the lady’s happy escape from the 
invidious censures of her sister-nuns, the queen ordered 
Philostratus to proceed, which he immediately did in this 
manner :— 

The odd figure of a judge, that was spoken of yesterday, 
prevented my giving you a story of Calandrino, which I 
had ready to tell you; therefore, as whatever is related of 
him must be entertaining, though we have had a great deal 
already about him and his companions, I shall now say 
what I had then in my mind. 

You have heard who Calandrino was, as well as the rest 
of the people concerned in this novel, so I shali tell you, 
without further preface, that he had an aunt died who left 
him about twenty pounds, on which he began to talk of 


NINTH DAY. 453 


purchasing an estate, and was running to treat with every 
broker in Florence, as if he had been worth the Indies, but 
there was an end always when they came to talk of a price. 
Now Bruno and Buffalmacco, who knew all this, had often 
told him that he had better spend it with them than lay it 
out on a little paltry land, butin vain; he would never part 
with a farthing. One day being in company with another 
paimter, whose name was Nello, and having agreed to feast 
‘themselves well at his expense, and being resolved too in 
what manner, the next morning, as he was going out of his 
house, he was met by Nello, who said, “Good morning to 
you, and a good year also.” After which the other began 
to look wistfully in his face, when he said, “What do you 
look at?” Quoth Nello, ‘‘Has anything been the matter 
with you last night? You are quite a different person.” 
Calandrino grew thoughtful at this, and said, ‘ Alas! now, 
what do you think Lail?” Nello replied, “Oh! I do not 
speak it upon that account, it may be something else;” 
and away he went. Calandrino, went on a little diffident, 
though feeling nothing all the time, when Buffalmacco 
came up to him, seeing him part from Nello, and asked 
him whether he was well. Calandrino replied, ‘‘ Indeed, J 
do not know: is it possible to be otherwise, and I not 
perceive it?” Said Buffalmacco, ‘‘It may be so, or it may 
not; but I assure you, you look as though you were half 
dead.” He now thought himself in a high fever, when 
Bruno came up, and the first word he said was, “‘ Monstrous ! 
how you look! why, you are dead. . Have you any sense of 
feeling?” He now concluded it was really so, and he 
asked them, in a great fright, what he had bestdo. “I 
advise,” quoth Bruno, ‘‘that you go home and get to. bed, 
covering yourself up close, whilst you send your water to 
Master Simon the doctor: he is our friend, you know, and 
will put you into a method ; in the meantime we will go 
with you, and do what we can for you.” So they took him 
to his own house, and he went upstairs ready to die away 
every moment, when he said to his wife, ‘‘Come and cover 
me up well in bed, for I find myself extremely ill.” And 
being laid down, he sent his water by alittle girl to the 
doctor, whose shop was in the old market, at the sign of 


454 _ THE DECAMERON 


the Melon. Bruno now said to his friends, ‘* Do you stay 
here, and I will go and hear what the doctor says, and 
bring him with me if there be occasion.” Said Calandrino, 
‘Pray do, my good friend, and let me know how it stands 
with me, for I feel myself strangely within.” Bruno getting 
to the doctor’s before the girl, let him into the secret. 
When the child came therefore, and he had examined the 
water, he said to her, ‘Go and bid him keep warm, and I 
will come instantly, and direct what to do.” She returned, 
and told Calandrino, and in a little time the doctor and 
Bruno came together, when the doctor sat down by him, 
and began to feel his pulse; at last he said, the wife being 
present, “I must tell you, as a friend, that your illness is 
nothing else but your being with child.” As soon as he 
heard this, he began to roar out, and say to his wife, ‘‘ Alas, 
this is all your doing!” Whilst the poor woman was so 
surprised, and out of countenance, that she left the room. 
He then continued his complaints, saying, ‘‘ What must I 
do? Or how shall I be delivered?” His companions had 
much ado to keep from laughing, seeing him in all this fright ; 
and as for the doctor, he showed all his teeth in such a 
manner that you might have drawn every one out; till, at 
length, Calandrino requesting the doctor’s best advice and 
assistance, the doctor replied, ‘‘Calandrino, I would not 
have you make yourself too uneasy, for since I know your 
ailment, I doubt not but I shall soon give you relief, and 
with a very little trouble; but it will be with some expense.” 
‘Oh, doctor,” quoth he, ‘I have twenty pounds, which 
should have bought me an estate; take it all, rather than 
let it come to a labour; for I hear the women make such 
a noise at those times, that I shall never get through it.” 
**Never fear,” said the doctor, “I shall prepare you a 
distilled liquor, very pleasant to the taste, which will resolve 
and bring it away, so that in three days you shall be as 
well as ever, nor subject any more to the like mishap. 
Now I must have six fat fowls, and for the other things, 
which will cost about ten shillings, you must give one of 
your friends here the money to buy, and bring them to my 
shop; and to-morrow morning I will send you the distilled 
water, which you must drink by a large glassful at a time.” 


NINTH DAY 455 


He replied, ** Doctor, I rely upon you.” So he gave Bruno 
ten shillings, and money also for the fowls, and desired he 
would take that trouble upon him. The doctor then made 
a little hippocrass, and sent it him. Whilst Bruno, with 
his companions and the doctor, were very merry over the 
fowls, and other good cheer purchased with the rest of the 
money. After Calandrino had drunk the hippocrass for 
the three mornings, the doctor came with his companions 
to see him, and on feeling his pulse, he said, ‘‘ You are now 
quite well, and need confine yourself within doors no longer.” . 
He was overjoyed at this, and gave the doctor great thanks, 
telling everybody he met what a cure Doctor Simon had 
wrought him in three days’ time, and without the least 
pain. Nor were his friends less pleased in overreaching 
his extreme avarice; but as to the wife, she saw into the 
trick, and made a great clamour about it. 


NOVEL IV 


Fortarrigo played away all that he had at Buonconvento, as also the 
money of Angiolieri, who was his master ; then running away in 
his shirt, and pretending that the other had robbed him, he caused 
him to be seized by the country people, when he put on his clothes, 
and rode away upon hts horse, leaving him there in his shirt. 


CALANDRINO’S simplicity had occasioned a good deal of 
diversion ; when Neiphile, as it was the queen’s pleasure, 
began in this manner :— 

If it were not more difficult for people to show their 
worth and good sense, rather than their bad dispositions 
and folly, they would not need to lay their tongues under 
the severe restraint that many are forced to do; now I 
mean to tell a story quite contrary to the last, namely, how 
the vileness of one man came beyond the understanding of 
another, to the great detriment and derision of the person 
so outwitted. 

There dwelt, not long since, at Siena, two young men of 
equal years, the one named Angiolieri, and the other 
Fortarrigo, who, as they resembled each other in many 
things, so, more particularly in their disobedience to their 


456 THE DECAMERON 


fathers, by which means they became inseparable friends. 
But Angiolieri, who was an accomplished gentleman, 
finding that he could not subsist very well there upon his 
father’s allowance, and hearing that a certain cardinal was 
come to Ancona, as the pope’s legate, who had showed a 
particular regard for him, he resolved to go thither, in hopes 
of bettering his condition. So making his mind known to 
his father, he got half a year’s stipend beforehand, in order 
to furnish himself with clothes and horses for his more 
creditable appearance. And being in want of a servant, 
Fortarrigo, who had notice of it, came and requested the 
favour that he would take him along with him in that 
capacity, offering to be his valet, footman, and everything 
else, without a farthing of wages more than his expenses, 
which the other.refused, not that he thought him -unfit for 
his service, but because he knew him to be a gamester, and 
one that would frequently_get.drunk. Fortarrigo assured 
him that he would be constantly on his guard with respect 
to both, confirming it with many protestations, and begging 
so hard besides, that at last he gave his consent. 
Accordingly they set out upon their journey, and rode.as 
far as Buonconvento, where they stopped to dine; and after 
dinner, as it was very hot weather, Angiolieri ordered a bed 
to be prepared, when he made his man undress him, and 
went to sleep, ordering him to call him up exactly as the 
clock struck nine. Whilst he was asleep, therefore, Fortar- 
rigo went to the tavern, and, after drinking pretty heartily, 
began to play with some people there, who soon won what 
little money he had, as also the clothes off his back. . When, 
being desirous of retrieving what-he had lost, he went, 
stripped as he was, to Angiolieri’s bedside, and finding 
him fast asleep, he took all the money out of his pocket, 
and returning to play, lost it, as he had done the. rest. 
As soon as Angiolieri awoke, he arose and dressed him- 
self, inquiring for Fortarrigo, who, not being to be found, 
he supposed he was gone somewhere or other to sleep, as 
he was used to do; therefore he determined to leave him 
there, ordering the saddle and portmanteau to be put upon 
his horse, with a design of providing himself with another 
servant at Corsignano. And putting his hand into his 


NINTH DAY 457 


pocket to pay his landlord, he found he had no money, 
upon which he made a great uproar, declaring he had been 
robbed, and threatening to have them all sent prisoners to 
Siena; when, behold, Fortarrigo came running in his shirt, 
with a design of stealing his clothes, as he had before 
his money, and seeing him about to ride away, he said, 
‘* What is the meaning of this, sir? Why should we go so 
soon? Do stay a little. A man has got my coat in pawn 
for eight-and-thirty shillings, and I daresay he will let us 
have it for five-and-thirty to be paid down.” But as he 
was saying this, a person came and told Angiolieri that For- 
tarrigo was a thief, as appeared from the quantity of money 
he had lost; upon which Angiolieri was in a most violent 
passion, threatening to have him hanged up and gibbeted ; 
saying this, he mounted his horse. “ But,” said Fortarrigo, 
as if he had been no way concerned, “pray, sir, leave off 
this idle talk, and let us have regard to the main point; 
we may have this coat now for five-and-thirty shillings, 
which, if we stay till to-morrow, the person who lent me 
the money may expect eight-and-thirty for. Then why 
should we lose these three shillings?” Angiolieri was out 
of all patience, hearing this from him, and seeing the sur- 
prise of the people all around him, who seemed to him to 
think not that Fortarrigo had gamed away his money, but 
rather that he had some of Fortarrigo’s money in keeping ; 
so he said, “ Plague take thee and thy coat! Is it not 
enough to have robbed me, but thou must insult me into 
the bargain, and stop my going away?” Still Fortarrigo 
continued, as if he had not been the person spoken to, 
adding, “ Consider these three shillings. Do you think I 
shall never pay you again? If you have any regard for me, 
pray do. Why need you be in such a hurry? We shall 
be time enough at Torrenieri. Then open your purse. I 
may go to every shop in Siena, and not get such another 
coat. And to tell me that I must leave it for eight-and- 
thirty shillings, when it is worth more than forty, is doing 
me a double injury.” Angiolieri, vexed to the last degree 
at seeing himself robbed, and then kept in talk in that 
manner, turned his horse, and rode towards Torrenieri. 
When Fortarrigo, who had still a more knavish design, ran 


PZ 


458 THE DECAMERON 


after him for two miles together, begging for his coat; and 
as the other was going to push on, in order to get rid of his 
noise, it happened that there were some labourers by the 
road where Angiolieri was to pass, when he called out to 
them, “Stop thief ;” so they took their forks and spades, 
and seized him, imagining that he had robbed the other, 
who was following after in that manner. And it was in 
vain that he offered to tell them how the case really was. 
In the meantime, Fortarrigo came up, and said, with an 
angry countenance, “‘I have a good mind to knock your 
brains out, you rascal, you! to ride away with what belongs 
to me;” and turning to the people, he added, ‘‘ You see, 
gentlemen, in what plight he left me yonder at the inn, 
having first gamed away all that he had of his own. I may 
well say that it is you I am obliged to for getting them 
back, and I shall always acknowledge it.” Angiolieri then 
told them a different story, but they had no regard to 
what he said. So Fortarrigo dismounted him, with their 
assistance, and stripped him of his clothes, which he put 
on himself, and got upon his horse, leaving him there in 
his shirt, and barefoot; when he returned to Siena, giving 
it out everywhere that he had won Angiolieri’s horse and 
clothes at play; whilst Angiolieri thinking to have visited 
the cardinal in a sumptuous manner, returned poor and 
naked to Buonconvento, and he was so ashamed of himself, 
that he would not go back to Siena, but procuring some 
money upon the horse that Fortarrigo had ridden on, he 
clothed himself, and went to his relations at Corsignano, 
where he stayed till he got a supply from his father. Thus 
Angioliero’s good design was entirely frustrated by the 
other’s subtle villainy, which yet in due time met with its 
deserved punishment. 


NOVEL V 


Calandrino is in love with a@ certain damsel, when Bruno prepares a 
charm for her, by virtue of which she follows him, and they are 
found together by his wife. 


NEIPHILE’s short novel was concluded, without either too 
much talk or laughter, when the queen ordered Flammetta 


NINTH DAY 459 


to follow, which she did cheerfully in this manner :—There 
is nothing can be so often repeated, but what will please 
the more always, if mentioned in due time and place. 
When I consider, therefore, the intent of our meeting, 
which is only to amuse and divert ourselves whilst we are 
here, I judge nothing either ill-timed or ill-placed which 
serves to answer that purpose. For which reason, though we 
have had much about Calandrino already, yet I will venture 
to give you another story concerning him ; in relating which, 
were I disposed to vary from the truth, I should carefully 
have disguised it in different names; but, as romancing 
upon these occasions greatly lessens the pleasure of the 
hearer, I shall report it in its true shape, relying on the 
reason before assigned. 

Niccolo Cornacchini was a citizen of ours, and a very 
rich man, who, amongst his other estates, was possessed of 
one at Cameratta, where he built himself a seat, and agreed 
with Bruno and Buffalmacco to paint it, but there being a 
great deal of work, they took Nello and Calandrino in to 
assist them. Where, as there were some chambers fur- 
nished, and an old woman there to look after the house, a 
son of this Niccolo’s named Philippo, being a gay young 
gentleman, would frequently bring a mistress thither for a 
day or two, and then send her away. Amongst the rest 
that used to: comealong with him, was one named Niccolosa, 
an agreeable and facetious woman enough, who going from 
her chamber one morning in a loose white bedgown, to 
wash her hands and face at a fountain in the court, it hap- 
pened'that Calandrino was there at the same time, when 
he made his compliments to her, which she returned with 
a kind of a smile at the oddity of the man. Upon this he 
began to look wistfully at her, and seeing she was very 
handsome, he found pretences for staying, but durst not 
speak a word. Still her looks seemed to give him en- 
couragement, whilst the poor man became so enamoured, 
that he had no power to leave the place, till Philippo 
chanced to call her into the house. He then returned to 
his friends in a most piteous taking, which Bruno perceiv- 
ing, said, ‘‘ What the devil is the matter with you, that you 
seem to be in all this trouble?” He replied, “Ah! my 


460 THE, DECAMERON 


friend, if I had any one to. assist, me, 1 should do well 
enough,”—“ As how?” quoth the other.—‘* I will: tell you,” 
he replied. ‘The most beautiful woman you ever saw, 
exceeding even the fairy queen herself, fell in love with me 
just now, as, I went to the well.”—‘ Alas!” said Bruno, 
‘you must take care-it) be not Philippo’s mistress.”—‘‘ I 
believe it is the same,” he replied; ‘‘ for she »went away the 
moment he called her: but why should I mind that? Was 
she the king’s I would lie with her if I could.” Well,” 
quoth Bruno, “‘I will find out who it is, and if she proves 
the same, I can tell you in two words what you have to do; 
for we are well acquainted together; but how shall we 
manage that Buffalmacco may know nothing of the matter? 
I can never speak to her but he will be present.”—‘“‘ As to 
Buffalmacco,” said he, ‘‘I.am in no pain for him, but we 
must take care of Nello; he is my wife’s relation, and would 
spoil our whole scheme.” Now Bruno knew her very well, 
and as Calandrino was gone out one day, to get a sight of 
her, he acquainted Buffalmacco and Nello with it, when 
they agreed together what to do in the thing. «Upon his 
return, therefore, Bruno whispered him, and said, “‘ Have 
you seen her?”—‘‘ Alas!” quoth he, ‘I have, and she has 
slain me outright.” I will go and see,” said he again, 
‘“‘ whether it be the person I mean; if it should, you may 
leave the whole to me.” So he wert and told Philippo 
what had passed, and how they had resolved to serve him ; 
when he came back and said, ‘‘It is the same, therefore we 
must be very cautious; for if Philippo should chance to 
find it out, all the water in the river would never wash off 
the guilt in his sight. But what shall I say to her on your 
part?” He replied, “First you must let her know that 
she shall have joy and pleasure without end, and afterwards 
that I am her most obedient servant, and so forth. Do 
you take me right?”-—‘‘ Yes,” quoth Bruno, “I do, and 
you may now trust me to manage for you. When supper 
time came, they left their work, and went down into the court, 
where they found Philippo and his mistress waiting to make 
themselves merry with the poor man, whilst Calandrino 
began to ogle her in such a manner, that a person that was 
blind almost must have perceived it; in the meantime 


NINTH DAY 461 


Philippo pretended to be talking to the others, as if he saw 
nothing of the matter. But after some time they parted, 
and as they were returning to Florence, said Bruno to 
Calandrino, “I tell you now, that you*have made her melt 
like ice before the sun; do you bring your guitar, and play 
her a tune, and she will throw herself out of the window to 
you.”—“Do you think so?” quoth Calandrino.—“ Most 
certainly,” replied the other.—‘ Well,” quoth he again, 
““who’ but myself could have made such a conquest in so 
small a time? I am not like your young fellows, that 
whine for years together to no. manner of purpose. Oh! 
you would be vastly pleased to hear me play and sing: 
besides, Iam not old, as you suppose, which I will soon 
convince her of.” Thus he was so overjoyed that he could 
scarcely contain himself, and accordingly the next morning 
he carried his instrument with him, and diverted them all 
very much; whilst he was running to the window and to 
the door, at every turn, to see her, so that he did little or 
no work. 

Bruno, on the other part, answered all his messages, as 
from her; and when she was’ not there, he would bring 
letters; which gave him hopes that she would soon gratify 
his desirés, but that then she was with her relations, and 
could not see him. Thus they diverted themselves at his 
expense for some time, often getting little presents from 
him to her, as a purse, or knife, or some such thing, for 
which he brought him in return counterfeit rings of no 
value, with which he was vastly delighted. Having gone 
on in this manner for two months, when seeing that the 
work was nearly finished, and imagining that unless he 
brought his love to a conclusion before that time, he should 
have no opportunity of doing it afterwards, he began to be 
very urgent with Bruno about it. When the lady being 
returned, and Bruno having conferred with her and Philippo 
upon the matter, he said to Calandrino, ‘‘ You know that 
she has made us a thousand promises to no purpose, so 
that it appears to me as if she only did it to lead us by the 
nose ; my advice therefore, is, that we will make her comply, 
whether she will or not.” The other replied, ‘‘ Let us do 
it then immediately.” —‘“ But,” says Bruno, ‘‘ will your heart 


462 THE DECAMERON 


serve you to touch her with a certain charm that I shall 
give your ””—“ You need not doubt that,” quoth Calan- 
drino.—“ Then,” continued Bruno, “you must procure me 
a little virgin-parchment, a living bat, three grains of incense, 
and a consecrated candle.” All that night was he employed 
in taking a bat, which at length he brought with the other 
things to Bruno, who went into a room by himself and 
scribbled some odd characters upon the parchment, when 
he gave it him, saying, “ Be careful only to touch her with 
this, and she will do that moment what you would have 
her. Therefore, if Philippo should go from home, take an 
opportunity of coming near, and having touched her, then 
go into the barn, which is a most convenient: place for your 
purpose, whither she will follow you, when you. know what 
you have to do.” Calandrino received. it with great joy, 
saying, ‘‘ Let me alone for that.” Whilst Nello, whom, he 
was most afraid of, was as deep as any in the plot, and 
went, by Bruno’s direction, to Calandrino’s wife, at Florence, 
when he said, ‘‘ Cousin, you have now a fair opportunity to 
revenge yourself of your husband, for his beating you the 
other day without cause ; if you-let it slip, I will never look 
upon you more, either as a’ relation or friend.. He hasa 
mistress, whom he is frequently with, and at this very time 
they have made an appointment to meet; then pray be a 
witness to it, and correct him as he deserves.” This 
seemed to her beyond a jest; so she said, ‘‘Oh, the villain! 
But I will pay all his old scores.” Accordingly, taking her 
hood, and a woman to bear her company, she went along 
with him; and when Bruno saw them at a distance, he 
said to Philippo, ‘‘Behold, our friends are coming, you 
know what you have to do.” .On this, Philippo went where 
Calandrino and the people were at work, and said, “Sirs, I 
must go to Florence, you will take care not to be idle when 
I am away.” And he went and hid himself in a place 
there he might see what passed ; whilst Calandrino, think- 
ing that he was far enough off, went into the court, where 
he found the lady, who, well knowing what he meant to do, 
came near to him, and, showed herself freer than. usual, 
upon which he touched her with the writing, and then 
withdrew towards the barn, whilst she followed him in, and 


NINTH DAY 469 


thought what you would say; such thanks.a person, has 
for currying a scald head! But thinkjas you will, I spoke 
it with a good design, and I advise you again to stay at 
home, or, atleast not to go into such a grove.”—‘“‘ Well,” 
she replied, ‘‘I will oblige you in that.” Afterwards, she 
began, to say to herself, ‘‘ This. rogue has been making 
an assignation with some base woman or other in yonder 
place, and thinks to fright me from going thither: I should 
be blind, indeed; not. to see through this artifice; but I 
will see what sort of cattle they are he is to,meet, though 
I stay the whole day.” Having-said this, the husband was 
no sooner out of one door but she went out at the other, 
posting away to the grove ; and being come into the thickest 
part of it, she stood waiting to see whether anybody came. 
Continuing upon the watch in this manner, without any 
fears of the wolf, behold, a monstrous large one rushed 
out of a close thicket, and seized her. by the throat,. before 
she had time, from the first seeing of it, to say so much as 
Lord, help me! and was carrying her away as he would a 
lamb.» She could make no noise, because he pinched her 
_ throat, nor was she able to help herself in any other manner, 
so that she must inevitably have been strangled had he 
not come in the way of some shepherds, who made a noise, 
and forced him to quit her. When, being known by them, 
she was carried to her own house, all torn as she was, 
attended by several surgeons, who made a cure at last; 
yet not in such a manner, but that one side of her face 
was strangely seamed and disfigured, so that there was an 
end of her beauty. Afterwards, being ashamed to appear 
abroad, did she lament all her life long her perverse dis- 
position, in not giving credit, in a point which would have 
cost her nothing, to the true dream of her husband, 


NOVEL VIII 


Biendello imposes upon one Ciacco with regard to a dinner: who 
revenges himself afterwards, and causes the other to be soundly 
beaten, 


Ir was generally agreed, that what Talano had seen in his 
sleep was no dream, but rather a vision, every part of it 


470 THE DECAMERON 


having so exactly come to pass. But, being all silent, the 
queen commanded Lauretta to follow, who therefore said :— 

As everybody that has spoken hitherto has given some- 
thing which has been treated of before, the severe revenge 
taken by the scholar, as related by Pampinea, reminds me 
of another revenge, grievous enough to the person con- 
cerned, although less cruel than that was. 

In Florence there was a man, the greatest epicure per- 
haps that ever was born, for which reason he was nick- 
named Ciacco, #.¢. glutton; who, unable to support the 
expense which such a craving disposition required, and 
being in other respects a very agreeable and merry com- 
panion, he used frequently to go amongst the rich 
people, such particularly as loved to live well, and to dine 
and sup with them, though perhaps he was not always 
invited. There was also a little dapper spark called Bion- 
dello, a perfect butterfly ; so exact and finical always as to 
his person, that there never was a hair amiss; and he fol- 
lowed the same way of life. Being therefore in the fish- 
market one morning in Lent, and buying a couple of very 
large lampreys for Signor Vieri de’ Cierchi, he was taken 
notice of by the other, who immediately asked who they 
were for? He replied, ‘‘ Yesterday Signor Corso Donati 
had three larger than these sent him, along with a sturgeon; 
which, not thinking sufficient for all his company, he has 
ordered me to buy two more: will not you go?” Ciacco 
replied, ‘You know very well that I shall.” So soon as 
he thought it was the time, he went to Signor Corso’s 
house, when he found him with some of his neighbours, 
dinner not being quite ready, who asked him whither: he 
was going? He replied, “Sir, I came to dine with you 
and your friends.” Signor Corso replied, ‘‘You are wel- 
come; it is about the time then, let us goin.” So they 
sat down to some peas, and a few small fish fried, without 
anything more. Ciacco now saw the trick, and resolved to 
return it. A few days afterwards he met with Biondello, 
who had made many people merry with the thing, who had 
accosted him, asking how he liked Signor Corso’s lampreys? 
Ciacco replied, “ Before eight days are at an end, you will 
know much better than J.” So the moment he’ parted 


NINTH DAY 471 


from him, he met with a porter, whom he carried near to 
the hall of Cavicciuli, where he showed him a certain 
knight named Philippo Argenti, the most boisterous ill- 
conditioned man that could be; and he said, ‘‘ Go, take 
this bottle in your hand, and say thus to yonder gentleman, 
‘Sir, Biondello gives his service, and desires you would 
erubinate this flask with some of your best red wine, to 
treat his friends with;’ but take care he does not lay 
his hands upon you, for you would have a bad time of it 
if he should, and my scheme be quite defeated.” Quoth 
the porter, “Must I say anything else?”—‘*No,” said 
Ciacco, “only say as I bid you, and when you come here 
again I will pay you.’’ Accordingly the man delivered his 
message, whilst Philippo, who was easily provoked, imagin- 
ing that this was done on purpose to enrage him, arose in 
a great passion, saying, ‘‘Stay a little, honest friend, and I 
will give thee what thou comest for;” and was going to 
have laid hold of him, but the man was aware of it, and 
took to his heels, returning to Ciacco, who saw the whole 
proceeding, and who paid him with a great deal of pleasure. 
His next business was to find out Biondello; when he said, 
“‘Have you been lately at the Cavicciuli?”—‘ No,” he 
replied, ‘‘but why do you ask the question ?””—“‘ Because,” 
quoth he, “* Philippo has been everywhere to seek for you; 
I do not know what it is for.”——‘‘ Then,” said he, ‘I will 
go and speak to him.” So he went, whilst the other fol- 
lowed at some distance, to see how he would be received. 
Now Philippo had not yet digested the porter’s message, 
and thinking! over and over about it, he concluded it 
could have no other meaning than that Biondello had a 
mind to affront him. In the meantime Biondello comes 
up to him, when he arose, and struck him with his double 
fist; whilst Biondello cried out, “Alas! what is this for?” 
He took him by the hair, and threw him upon the ground, 
saying, “ Villain, I will teach thee to make thy jests of me.” 
At last, after he had ‘beaten him a good deal, the people in- 
terposed, and rescued him, telling him how it came to pass, 
and blaming him for the message, adding: ‘‘ You should 
know Philippo better than to exercise any of your wit 
upon him.” He protested that he never sent any such 


472 THE DECAMERON 


message, and departed full of grief to his own house, con- 
cluding that this was a trick of Ciacco. Some time after- 
wards Ciacco happened to meet with him, when he said, 
with a laugh, ‘Well! what think you of Philippo’s wine?” 
He replied, “Just as you thought of Corso’s lampreys.”— 
‘Whenever you are disposed then,” quoth Ciacco, “to 
give me such a dinner, I can give you as good wine as 
this you have tasted.” Biondello now finding that the 
other was more than his match, begged to be friends, and 
from that time took care to give him no more provocation. 


NOVEL IX 


Two young men go to King Solomon for his advice; the one to know 
how he is to behave to be beloved, the other how to manage an 
untoward wife, To the first he replies, Love; to the second, Go 
to Goosebridge. 


ONLy the queen now remained to speak, saving his. privi- 
lege to Dioneus ; who, after they had laughed at the unfor- 
tunate Biondello, began in this manner :— 

Whoever rightly considers the order of things may plainly 
see the whole race of woman-kind is by nature, custom, 
and the laws, made subject to man, to be governed accord- 
ing to his discretion: therefore it is the duty of every one 
of us that desires to have ease, comfort, and repose, with 
those men to whom we belong, to be humble, patient, and 
obedient, as well as chaste; which is the great and principal 
treasure of every prudent woman. And though the laws 
which regard the good of the community may not teach 
this in every particular, any more than custom, the force 
of which is very great, and worthy to be esteemed, yet it is 
plainly showed by nature, who has formed us with delicate 
and sickly constitutions, our minds timorous and fearful, 
gentle and compassionate as our tempers, of little bodily 
strength, our voices soft and pleasing, and the whole motion 
of our limbs sweetly pliant, as so many apparent proofs 
that we stand in need of another’s guidance and protection. 
And whom should we have for our rulers and helpers but 
men? To them, therefore, let us submit ourselves with 


NINTH DAY — 473 


all due reverence and honour; and she that shall depart 
from this, I hold worthy not only of reproof, but severe 
chastisement. I am led to these reflections by what Pam- 
pinea has just now told us of the perverse wife of 'Talano, 
on whom Providence inflicted a heavier judgment than 
the husband ever could have thought of. Therefore, as I 
said before, such women as are’ not mild, gracious, and 
compassionate, as nature, custom, and the laws require, 
are deserving of the greatest punishment; for which reason 
I shall give you some of Solomon’s advice, as a salutary 
medicine, which I would not have understood by such as 
stand in no need of it, as if any way designed for them. 
Although men have the following proverb, ‘A good horse 
and a bad one both require spurs—a good wife and a bad 
one both want a cudgel.” Which words we will admit to 
be true, if spoken only by way of mirth and pastime; and 
even in a moral sense, we will allow that women are natur- 
ally prone and unstable, and therefore a stick may be 
requisite to correct the evil dispositions of some, as well as 
to support the virtue of others, who behave with more dis- 
cretion, and to be a terror to prevent them from offending. 
But to let preaching alone, and to proceed with my story. 
The fame of Solomon’s most wonderful wisdom being 
carried throughout the whole world, and his being very 
communicative to such as resorted to him for proofs of it, 
people were flocking to him from all parts to beg his advice 
in their most urgent and momentous affairs. Amongst the 
rest was a young nobleman of great wealth, called Melisso, 
who came from the city of Laiazzo, where he was born and 
dwelt; and as he was riding on towards Jerusalem, he 
happened, going out of Antioch, to meet with another 
young gentleman, named Gioseffo, passing the same road, 
when they travelled for some time together, falling into 
discourse, as is usual for people that travel, and knowing 
who Gioseffo was, and from whence he came, he inquired 
whither he was going, and upon what account. When 
Gioseffo replied that he was going to King Solomon for 
advice what method to take with a most perverse ill- 
conditioned woman that he had married, and whom no 
entreaties nor fair speeches had the least effect upon to 


474 THE DECAMERON 


cure her of that temper. He then asked whither he was 
bound, and upon what occasion. Melisso made answer, 
“IT am of Laiazzo, and have an affair that troubles me in 
like manner; I am rich, and keep a most noble table, 
entertaining all my fellow-citizens, and yet it is a most un- 
accountable thing, there is nobody that cares for or respects 
me: so ] am going to the same place to know what I must 
do to be beloved.” Thus they rode on together till they 
came to Jerusalem; when they were introduced to King 
Solomon by one of his barons. Melisso briefly set forth 
his misfortune, and Solomon replied, “ Learn to love.” 
Immediately he was showed out of doors, and Gioseffo 
related his grievance: when Solomon made no reply but 
this, “Go to Goosebridge.” Accordingly he was also 
dismissed ; and coming to Melisso, who was waiting for 
him without, he told him what the answer was he had 
received ; who thinking much upon the words, and being 
able to find out no sense or meaning in them, or to draw 
any use from them, they considered it as all a mockery, and 
were making the best of their way home again. After travel- 
ling some days, they came to a bridge, where being a great 
caravan of mules and horses laden, they were obliged to stay 
till these had passed. The greater part was now on the 
other side; but there was a mule that took fright, which 
would by no means go over: upon which one of the 
drivers took a stick, and began to beat her gently, in order 
to make her pass; but she leaped this way and that way, 
and sometimes would turn back; therefore when he found 
her so stubborn, he began to lay on as hard as ever he 
could strike, but all to no purpose. This our two gentle- 
men saw, and would often say to the man, ‘‘ You sorry 
rascal! have you a mind to kill the mule? You should 
lead her gently over; she will go better in that manner 
than by so much beating.” The man replied, ‘‘ Gentlemen, 
you know your horses, and I know my mule; suffer me, 
then, to manage her as I will.” And he beat her again, 
laying on her so thick, that at last he got the better of her, 
and made her pass. So as they were going away, Gioseffo 
asked a man that was sitting at the end of the bridge, what 
the name of it was? ‘‘Sir,” quoth the man, “this place 


NINTH DAY 475 


is called Goosebridge.” This made him call to mind the 
words of Solomon; and he said to Melisso, ‘‘ Now, trust 
me, friend, Solomon’s counsel may be very good and true ; 
for I never yet beat my wife, but this man hath just now 
showed me what I have to do.” And, coming to Antioch, 
he kept Melisso at his house for some days, when, being 
received by her with great joy, he ordered her to dress the 
supper according to Melisso’s direction, who, seeing that it 
was his friend’s will, gave his instructions for that purpose. 
But she, according to custom, did everything quite the 
reverse of what Melisso had told her; which Gioseffo saw 
with a good deal of vexation, and said, “ Were not you told 
in what manner to dress this supper?” She replied, with 
great disdain, ‘‘ What is that to you? If you havea mind 
to eat, do; if not, you may let it alone.” Melisso was 
surprised at her reply, and began to blame her for it. But 
Gioseffo said, ‘‘I find, madam, you are still the same person ; 
but I will make you change your manners.” ‘Then, turning 
to Melisso, he added, ‘‘ Well, we shall now make trial of 
Solomon’s advice ; however, I must beg of you to consider 
it all as a joke, and not to offer me any hindrance; but 
remember what the man said when we were pitying the 
mule.” Quoth Melisso, ‘‘I am in your house, and shall 
conform to your pleasure.” So he took a good oaken 
stick, and followed her into the chamber, whither she was 
gone in a pet, and began to give her some severe discipline. 
When she cried out, and threatened him very much; but 
finding that he still persisted, she threw herself upon her 
knees, and begged for mercy, promising that for the future 
she would always be obedient to his will and pleasure. 
He continued, nevertheless, laying on till he was weary, 
that in short she had not a free part about her. And 
when he had done, he came to Melisso, and said, ‘* To- 
morrow we shall see the effect of the advice to go to 
Goosebridge.” Then he washed his hands, and they sat 
down to supper, and afterwards, when it was the time, they 
went to repose themselves. The poor lady had much 
trouble to get up from the ground, when she threw her- 
self upon the bed, and betimes in the morning she arose 
and sent to her husband, to know what he would have 


476 THE’ DECAMERON 


for dinner.’ He smiled at this, with his friend, and told 
her. 
When the time came, therefore, they found everything 
prepared according to the directions given; upon which 
they highly commended the advice which they so ill under- 
stood. Some time afterwards Melisso parted from Gioseffo, 
and went home; when heacquainted a certain wise man in 
the neighbourhood with what Solomon had told him; who 
said, ‘‘ No better or truer advice could possibly be given 
you; you know that you have a regard for no one person, 
and that the entertainments you make are for no love you 
bear those people, but only mere pomp and show. Love, 
then, as Solomon advises, and you shall be beloved.” . Thus 
the unruly woman was managed, and the man by loving 
others was himself beloved. 


NOVEL % 


Don John, at the request of kis companion Peter, proceeds by enchant- 
ment to turn his wife into a mare ; but when he ts about to attach 
the tail, Peter, i crying out that he well not have the tail, breaks 
the enchantment. 


THE foregoing novel related by the queen, though it made 
the men laugh, caused some disapprobation among the 
ladies ; but they were presently appeased: and it. being the 
turn of Dioneus, he said :— 

By your leave, fair ladies, I will tell you a tale which 
shall not be so long, by which you will understand how 
carefully we must observe whatever.is commanded by those 
who are about to do anything by force of incantation, and 
how a trifling mistake will frustrate everything the enchant- 
ment would have effected. 

There was last year at Barletta, a priest named Don John 
of Barolo, whose benefice being so poor as not to afford a 
sufficient livelihood, he began, with a single mare, to carry 
on a traffic at the fairs of Puglia. In travelling the country 
he became particularly intimate with a man who followed 
the same trade, and carried his merchandise on an ass, and 


NINTH DAY 477 


who was called Pietro di Tresanti. Don John, in tokem of 
kindness and friendship, and according to the custom of 
Puglia, never called his acquaintance otherwise than his 
‘Comrade Peter ;” and whenever he came to Barletta he 
invited him to sleep at his poor dwelling, and gave him the 
best cheer in his power. Peter, however, was still poorer, 
having only a little cabin in the village of Tresanti, which 
was merely big enough for himself, his young and handsome 
wife, and his ass; nevertheless, when Don John came to 
Tresanti he brought him to his cabin, and received and 
honoured him in the best manner he could, out of gratitude 
for the treatment he had met with at Barletta. But when 
bed-time arrived, Peter could not accommodate Don John 
in the manner he could wish, for he had but one little bed 
for himself and wife; therefore Don John was obliged to 
sleep on some straw near to his mare, who was lodged in a 
little stable with the ass. Peter’s wife, knowing the hospitable 
reception which the priest gave her husband when he went 
to Barletta, was desirous of going to sleep with a female 
neighbour, in order that he might have her half of the bed. 
The priest would not suffer this, but said to her, ‘‘ My good 
Dame Gemmatta, be not troubled on my account, for I am 
very well off; I can when I please turn this mare into a 
beautiful girl, and be happy with her; and when I wish to 
go, I can again transform her into a mare: therefore I never 
separate myself from her.” The young wife was greatly 
astonished at this, but believing it implicitly, related it to 
her husband, saying, ‘‘If he is so much your friend as you 
tell me, why do you not make him teach you this enchant- 
ment, in order that you might make a mare of me, and 
carry on your business with the ass and the mare, by which 
means we should gain double: when we came home, you 
could make me return intoa woman,asIam.” Peter, who 
was more dull than otherwise, thought well of it, agreed to 
her proposition, and began, with the best grace he could 
put on, to solicit Don John to teach him the secret. Don 
John endeavoured to persuade him from such nonsense, 
but Peter would not be refused. He therefore said, ‘‘ Since 
you will have it so, we must rise to-morrow, as usual, before 
daybreak, and I will show you how it is done; but the 


478 THE DECAMERON 


most difficult part of this affair is the putting on the tail, as 
you will see.” 

Peter and his wife having scarcely slept during the night, 
and being so anxious. about this affair, rose the moment the 
time had arrived, and called Don John, who got up and 
came in his shirt to their chamber. He said, “I know no 
one in the world for whom I would do this but you; but 
as it pleases you, I'll do it: you must, however, do what I 
tell you, if you wish the incantation to succeed.” They 
promised to do everything he bade them; Don John then 
took a candle, and putting it in the hand of Peter, said, 
“ Notice well what I do, and remember what I say; but 
have a care, as you love yourself, that whatever you see 
you utter not a single word, or you will spoil the whole, 
and pray to God that the tail may be well put on.” After 
this, Don John made Gemmatta strip herself stark naked, 
and go down upon all-fours, after the manner of a mare. 
He then began with his hands to rub her face and head, 
saying, “this will be a fine mare’s head ;” and touching 
her hair, “this will be a fine mare’s mane;” examining her 
arms, ‘‘these will be fine legs and fine feet for a mare;” 
next, he felt her stomach, and finding it. firm and round, 
he made her rise up and stand erect, saying, “this will 
make a good mare’s chest;” and when he had in this 
manner gone over her back, her buttocks, her thighs, and 
her legs, and there remained nothing else to make but the 
tail, vata la camiscia, e presso il piuolo col quale egli pian- 
tava gli uomint, e prestamente nel solco per cto fatto messolo, 
saying, “‘and this will be a fine mare’s tail.” Peter, 
who to this moment had silently regarded everything that 
was done, seeing this conclusion, and thinking everything 
was not right, cried, ‘Stop, Don John, I will not have a 
tail—I will not have a tail.” Era gia Lumido vradicale, 
per lo quale tutte le piante § appiccano, venuto, quands 
Donno Gianni tiratolo indietro, saying, “Alas, my dear 
friend Peter, what have you done! did I not tell you not 
to utter a word about what you saw? the mare was almost 
made; but you have spoilt the whole affair by speaking, 
and ’tis now impossible to repair the mischief you have 
done.” Peter replied, ‘It is as well as it is, for I will not 


NINTH DAY 479 


have such a tail; why did you not tell me to do it myself? 
you have also attempted to put it ontoolow.” ‘‘ Because,” 
said Don John, “you would not, for the first time, have 
_known how to put it on so well as Ido.” The young wife 
hearing these words, raised herself on her feet, and said, in 
good earnest to her husband, “ Brute that you are; why 
have you ruined both your own fortune and mine? What 
mare have you ever seen without a tail? You are poor; 
but if God aids me you shall be well employed if you are 
not still poorer.” There being no other means of turning 
the young wife into a mare, in consequence of the words 
spoken by Peter, she, in a grievous and melancholy mood, 
put on her clothes, and her husband endeavoured to carry 
on his usual business, as he had previously done, with his 
single’ass, and did not go with Don’ John to the fairs of 
Bitonto ; nor did he, ever since that period, seek to enrich 
himself by the aid of such services. 

This tale was received with considerable laughter, and it 
appeared that the ladies understood it better than Dioneus 
had intended. 

The novels were now concluded, and the sun began to 
grow warm, when the queen, knowing that her reign was at 
an end, arose, and taking the crown from her own head, 
she placed it upon Pamphilus, who was the only person on 
whom that honour had not yet been conferred, saying, with 
a smile, ‘‘Sir, a very great charge now rests upon you; for, 
as you are the last, you have.to supply my defect, and that 
of the rest who have been in my place, which I hope you 
will do.” Pamphilus, pleased with the honour done him, 
replied, “ Your virtue, madam, and that of my other 
subjects, will cause me to receive praise, as well as the rest 
that have gone before me.” So, after giving the usual 
orders to the master of the household, he turned to the 
ladies, and said, “It was Emilia’s great prudence yesterday 
to let us choose our own subjects by way of ease and 
respect: therefore, being now a little recruited, I will that 
we return to our old law; and for to-morrow the subject 
shall be as follows: of such persons who have done some 
gallant or generous action, either as to love or anything 
else. The relating such stories as these will kindle in our 


480 THE DECAMERON 


minds a generous desire of doing the like; so that our 
lives, the continuance of which in these frail bodies can be 
but short, may be made immortal in an illustrious name; 
which all persons, not devoted to their lustful appetites, like © 
brute beasts, ought, with their whole study and diligence, 
to covet and seek.” 

The theme was agreeable to the whole assembly. And 
with the leave of the new king they parted, and went, 
as they were severally disposed, to divert themselves till 
supper, when everything was served up with great elegance 
and order. Afterwards they danced as usual, singing, also 
a thousand songs, more agreeable indeed as to the words 
than music; when the king, at last, ordered Neiphile to 
give one relating more to herself, which she did very 
agreeably in the following manner :— 


SONG. 


I, 
Regardful through the meads I stray, 
Where flowers their various hues display ; 
When all that’s sweet and pleasing there, 
I to my lover’s charms compare. 


II. 


I pick out such as fairest seem, 

And laugh and talk as ’twere to him, 
Which, when my am’rous tale is said, 
I to my lover’s charms compare. 


III. 
Whilst thus employed an equal joy 
I find, as though himself were by : 
How great! no language can reveal, 
Tis that my sighs alone can tell: 


IV. 


Which, harshness and distrust apart, 
Breathe warm the dictates of my heart; 
Such as he ever shall approve, 

And meet with equal zeal and love. 


The song was much commended by the king, as well as 
the whole company ; and, a good part of the night being 
spent, they were ordered to go and repose themselves til] 
the next day. 


THE TENTH DAY 


Now began certain little clouds, that were in the west, to 
blush with a vermilion tint, whilst those in the east grew 
bright at their extremities, like burnished gold, owing to 
the sunbeams approaching near, and glancing upon them, 
when Pamphilus arose, and assembled all his company. 
After concluding whither they were to go, he led the way 
with an easy pace, attended by Philomena and Flammetta, 
the rest all following at a distance talking of many things 
relating to their future conduct ; and taking a considerable 
circuit, they returned, as the sun grew warm, to the palace. 
There, plunging their glasses in the clear current, they quaffed 
their morning draughts, from whence they went amidst the 
shady walks of the garden to amuse themselves till dinner. 
After dining and sleeping as usual, they met where the 
king appointed, when he laid his first commands on 
Neiphile, who began very pleasantly in this manner :— 


NOVEL I 


4 certain knight in the service of the King of Spain thinks himself not 
sufficiently rewarded, when the king gives a remarkable proof that 
tt was not his fault so much as the knight's ill fortune ; and after 
wards nobly requites him. 


BEHOLD it, ladies, as a singular favour, that the king has 
appointed me to speak first on so noble a subject as that 
of magnificence, which, as the sun is the glory of heaven, 
is the ornament and lustre of every other virtue. I shall 
relate, therefore, a pleasant novel enough, in my opinion, 
and which can be no other than useful. 

Know, then, that amongst other worthy knights of our city 


485 
Q 


482 THE DECAMERON 


was one Ruggieri de’ Figiovanni, whose worth and valour 
made him equal at least to the best; and who, finding, 
according to the dispositions of his countrymen, that he 
had no opportunity of showing his courage at home, re- 
solved to go into the service of Alphonso, King of Spain, 
the most celebrated prince of his time. So he went 
attended with an honourable train, and was most graciously 
received by the king, to whom he soon made his merit 
known as well by his gallant way of life, as glorious feats of 
arms. Continuing then some time there, and having parti- 
cular regard to every action of the king’s, he found that he 
gave away castles, cities, and baronies, sometimes to one, 
and sometimes to another, without the least judgment, and 
where there was no show of merit in the case, and that he 
came in for no part himself. Therefore being sensible of 
his own worth, and fearful lest his character should suffer 
by such an oversight, he took a resolution to depart, 
desiring the king’s leave, which was granted him. His 
majesty also made him a present of a fine mule, which was 
very acceptable, on account of the long journey he had to 
perform. After which the king gave it in charge to one of 
his servants to contrive to fall in with him upon the road, 
but in such a manner that the knight should have no 
suspicion of his sending him, when he was to note what he 
should say concerning the king, in order to carry a full 
account back, and the next morning he was to command his 
return with him tothe king. Accordingly the servant waited 
for the knight’s departure, and soon joined him, giving 
him to understand that he was going towards Italy. Thus 
they rode on, chattering together. The knight being upon 
the mule which the. king had given him, and it being now 
about three o’clock, he said, “We should do well to. give 
our beasts a little rest.” This being agreed, they put them 
in a stable, when they all staled except the mule. Going 
on afterwards, the servant attentive all the time to the 
knight’s words, they came to a river, where, watering all 
their beasts, the mule chanced to stale in the river, which 
when the knight saw, he said, “ Plague on thee for an ill- 
conditioned beast, thou art just like thy master that gave 
thee to me.” The servant took particular notice of this, 


TENTH: DAY 453 


and though he had picked up many things upon the road, 
there was no: other but what redounded to the king’s credit ; 
so the next morning, as they had mounted their horses, 
and were setting out for Italy, he delivered the king’s 
mandate, upon which the knight immediately turned back. 
And the king being informed of what he had said con- 
cerning the mule, had him brought before him, when he 
received him with a cheerful countenance, demanding why 
the mule and he were compared to each other. He very 
frankly replied, ‘‘It is, my lord, because you give where you 
ought not, and where you ought, there you give nothing ; 
just as the mule would not stale where she should, but did 
it where she should not.”—‘‘ Believe me, Signor Ruggieri,” 
replied the king, ‘‘if I have not given to you as I have done 
to divers others, who are no way your equals, this happened 
not because I have not known you to be a valiant knight, 
and deserving of all I could do for you; but it was entirely 
your ill fortune, as I will soon convince you.”—‘ My lord,” 
answered the knight, ‘‘I do not complain because I have 
yet received nothing from your majesty, out of any desire 
of becoming richer, but only as you have borne testimony 
in no respect to my virtue; and though I hold your 
excuse to be good, I should yet be glad to see what you 
promise to show me, notwithstanding I want no such 
proof.” The king then led him into a great hall, where as he 
had before given order, stood two large coffers, when he 
said, in the presence of many of his lords, ‘‘ Sir Knight, in 
one of these coffers is my imperial crown, sceptre, globe, 
with all the best jewels that I have; the other is filled only 
with earth; then choose which you will, and 1t shall be 
yours; so you will see whether it is I that am ungrateful to 
your merit, or whether it be your ill fortune.” Ruggieri, 
seeing it was the king’s pleasure, made his choice of one, 
which the king ordered to be opened, and it was full of 
earth, upon which the king laughed, and said, ‘‘ You ‘see 
now, sir, that what I said of your fortune is true; but most 
assuredly your valour deserves that I interpose in the case. 
I know very well that you have no desire to become a 
Spaniard, for which reason I would give you neither castle 
nor city; but this chest, which your ill fortune deprived you 


484 THE DECAMERON 


of, I will shall be yours, in despite of her. Take it home with 
you, that you may value yourself upon your virtue amongst 
ae neighbours and friends, by this testimony of my 
ounty.” The knight received it, and, after returning his 
majesty the thanks that were due for such a present, 
departed joyfully therewith to his native country. 


NOVEL II. 


Ghino di Tacco takes the Abbot of Cligni prisoner, and cures him of a 
pain in his stomach, and then sets himat liberty ; when he returns 
to the court of Rome, and reconciling him with Pope Boniface, he 
ts made prior of an hospital. 


ALPHONSO’s magnificence was much applauded, when the 
king, who seemed more particularly pleased with it, laid his 
next command upon Eliza, and she immediately said :— 

For a king to be magnificent, and to give proofs of it 
to a person that had served him, must be allowed a great 
and commendable action. But what will you say to the 
wonderful generosity of a clergyman towards one too that 
was his enemy ; can anything be objected tothat? Nothing 
surely can be said less than this, that if the one was a virtue 
in a king, the other in a churchman was a perfect prodigy ; 
inasmuch as they are for the most part more sordid than 
even women, and avowed enemies to everything of 
generosity. And though it is natural to desire revenge, 
they, notwithstanding their preaching up patience, and 
recommending the forgiveness of injuries to others, pursue 
it with more rancour than other people. \ This thing, there- 
fore (I mean the generosity of a certain prelate) will be. 
made appear in the following story. 

Ghino di Tacco was a man famous for his bold and 
insolent robberies, who being banished from Siena, and at 
utter enmity with the Counts di Santa Fiore, caused the town 
of Radicofani to rebel against the church, and lived there 
whilst his gang robbed all who passed that way. Now 
when Boniface the Eighth was pope, there came to court 
the Abbot of Cligni, reputed to be one of the richest 


TENTH DAY 485 


prelates in the world, and having debauched his stomach 
with high living, he was advised by his physicians to go to 
the bath of Siena, as a certain cure. And, having leave 
from the pope, he set out with a goodly train of coaches, 
carriages, horses, and servants, paying no respect to the 
rumours concerning this robber. Ghino was apprised of 
his coming, and took his measures accordingly; when, 
without the loss of a man, he enclosed the abbot and his 
whole retinue in a narrow defile, where it was impossible 
for them to escape.’ This being done, he sent one of his 
principal fellows to the abbot, with his service, requesting 
the favour of him to alight and visit him at his castle. 
Upon which the abbot replied, with a great deal of passion, 
that he had nothing to do with Ghino, but that. his 
resolution was to go on, and he would see who dared to 
stop him. ‘ My lord,” quoth the man, with a great deal of 
humility, “you are now in a place where all excommuni- 
cations are kicked out of doors; then please to oblige my 
master in this thing, it will be your best way.” Whilst they 
were talking together, the place was surrounded with 
highwaymen, and the abbot, seeing himselfa prisoner, went 
with a great deal of ill-will with the fellow to the castle, 
followed by his whole retinue, where he dismounted, and 
was lodged, by Ghino’s appointment, in a poor, dark, little 
room, whilst every other person was well accommodated 
according to his respective station, and the carriages and all 
the horses taken exact care of. This being done, Ghino 
went to the abbot, and said, ‘‘My lord, Ghino, whose 
guest you are, requests the favour of you to let him know 
whither you are going, and upon what account?” The 
abbot was wise enough to lay all his haughtiness aside for 
the present, and satisfied him with regard to both. Ghino 
went away at hearing this, and resolving to cure him 
without a bath, he ordered a great fire to be kept constantly 
in his room, coming to him no more till next morning, 
when he brought him two slices of toasted bread, in a fine 
napkin, and a large glass of his own rich white wine, saying 
to him, “ My lord, when Ghino was young, he: studied 
physic, and he declares that the very best medicine for a 
pain in the stomach is what he has now provided for you, 


486 THE DECAMERON 


of which these things are to be the beginning. Then take 
them, and have a good heart.” ‘The abbot, whose hunger 
was much greater than was his will to joke, ate the bread, 
though with a great deal of indignation, and drank the glass 
of wine; after which he began to talk a little arrogantly, 
asking many questions, and demanding more: particularly 
to see this Ghino. But Ghino passed over part of what he 
said as vain, and the rest he answered very courteously, 
declaring that Ghino meant to make him a visit very soon, 
and then left him. He saw him no more till next morning, 
when he brought him as much bread and wine as before, 
and in the same manner. And thus he continued during 
many days, till he found the abbot had ate some dried 
beans, which he had left purposely in the chamber, when he 
inquired of him, as from Ghino, how he found his stomach. 
The abbot replied, “‘I should’ be well enough were I out of 
this man’s clutches. There is nothing I want now so much 
as to eat, for his medicines have had such an effect upon 
me, that I am fit to die with hunger.” Ghino, then, having 
furnished a room with the abbot’s own goods, and provided 
an elegant entertainment, to which many people of the 
town were invited, as well as the abbot’s own domestics, 
went the next’ morning. to him, and said, “ My lord, now 
you find yourself recovered, it is time for you to quit this 
infirmary.” So.he took him by the hand, and led him into 
the chamber, leaving him there with his own people; and 
as he went out to give orders about the feast, the abbot was 
giving an account how he had led his life in that place, 
whilst they declared that they had been used by Ghino with 
all possible respect. When the time came, they sat down, 
and were nobly entertained, but still without Ghino’s 
making himself known. But after the abbot had continued 
some days in that manner, Ghino had all the goods and 
furniture brought into a large room, and the horses were 
likewise led into the courtyard which was under it, when he 
inquired how his lordship now found himself, or whether 
he was yet able to ride... The abbot made answer, that he 
was strong enough, and his stomach perfectly well, and that 
he only wanted to quit this man. Ghino then brought him 
into the room where all his goods were, showing him also:to 


‘TENTH DAY 487 


the window, that he might take a view of his horses, when 
he said, ‘‘My lord, you must understand it was no evil 
disposition, but his being driven a poor exile from his own 
house, and persecuted with many enemies, that forced 
Ghino di Tacco, whom I am, to be a robber upon the 
highways, and an enemy to the court of Rome. You seem, 
however, to be a person of honour; as, therefore, I have 
cured you of your pain in your stomach, I do not mean to 
treat you as I would:do another person that should fall into 
my hands, that is, to take what) I please, but I would have 
you consider my necessity, and then give me what you will 
yourself. Here is all that belongs to you; the horses you 
may see out of the window: take either part or the whole, 
just as you are disposed, and go or stay, as is most 
agreeable to you.” The abbot was surprised to hear a 
highwayman talk in so courteous a. manner, which did not a 
little please him ; so, turning all his former passion and resent- 
ment into kindness and good-will, he ran with a heart full of 
friendship to embrace him: ‘I protest solemnly, that to 
procure the friendship of such a one as I take you to be, I 
would undergo more than what you have already made me 
suffer. Cursed be that evil fortune which has thrown you into 
this way of life!” So taking only a few of his most neces- 
sary things, and also of his horses, and leaving all the rest, he 
came back to Rome. The pope had heard of the abbot’s 
being a prisoner, and though he was much concerned at it, 
yet upon seeing him, he inquired what benefit he had‘: re- 
ceived from the baths. The abbot replied, with a smile, 
‘* Holy father, I found a: physician much nearer, who has 
cured me excellently well ;” and she told him the manner 
of it, which made the pope laugh heartily, when, going on 
with his story, and moved with a truly generous spirit, he 
requested of his holiness one favour. The pope, imagining 
he would ask something else, freely consented to grant it. 
Then said the abbot, ‘‘ Holy father, what I mean to require 
is, that you would bestow a free pardon on Ghino di Tacco, 
my doctor, because, of all people of worth that I ever met 
with, he certainly is most to be esteemed, and the damage 
he does is more the fault of fortune than himself: Change 
but his condition, and give him something to live upon, 


488 THE DECAMERON- 


according to his rank and station, and I dare say you will 
have the same opinion of him that Ihave.” The pope, being 
of a noble spirit, and a great encourager of merit, promised 
to do so, if he was such a person as he reported, and, in 
the meantime, gave letters of safe conduct for his coming 
thither. Upon that assurance, Ghino came to court, when 
the pope was soon convinced of his worth, and reconciled 
to him, giving him the priory of an hospital, and creating 
him a knight. And there he continued as a friend and 
loyal servant to the holy church, and to the Abbot of Cligni, 
as long as he lived. 


NOVEL IIf 


Mithridanes envied the generosity of Nathan, and went to hillihim; 
when, conversing together, without knowing him, and being informed 
in what manner he might do tt, he went to meet him in a wood as 
he had directed. There he calls him to mind, ts ashamed, ana 
becomes his friend. 


THE abbot’s extraordinary generosity seemed next to a 
miracle to all that heard it; when Philostratus was com- 
manded to speak, who instantly said,—Great, most noble 
ladies, was the magnificence of the King of Spain; and that 
of the Abbot of Cligni something quite unusual; but per- 
haps it will appear no less strange to you to be told how a 
person, as a proof of his liberality to another, who thirsted 
after his blood, nay, and his very soul too, should: contrive 
industriously to gratify him. And, he had done so, if the 
other would have taken what was so offered, as I am going 
to show you. 

Most certain it is, if any faith may be given to the Genoese, 
and others that have been in those parts, that in the country 
of Cattaio lived a person of noble extract, and rich beyond 
comparison, called Nathan, who, having an estate adjoining 
to the great road which led from the east to the west, and 
being of a generous spirit, and desirous of showing it by 
his good works, summoned together many master artificers, 
and in a very short time raised one of the most grand and 
beautiful palaces that ever was seen, furnishing it with every- 


TENTH DAY 489 


thing necessary for the more honourable reception of per- 
sons of distinction. He had also great numbers of servants, 
and kept open house for all comers and goers, continuing 
this noble way of living; till not only the east but the west 
also resounded his fame. Being grown into years, and his 
hospitality no way abated, it happened that his renown 
reached the ears of a young gentleman named Mithridanes, 
living in a country not far from the other, who, thinking 
himself full as wealthy as Nathan, began’to envy his fame 
and virtue, resolving to’annul or cloud them both by a 
superior generosity. So he built such another palace as 
Nathan’s, and was extravagantly generous to everybody, that 
how famous he soon became it is needless to say. Now 
one day it happened, as he was all alone in his palace- 
court, that a woman came in at one of the gates, and de- 
manded alms, which she received ; after which she came in 
at a second, and was relieved a second time, and so on for 
twelve times successively, and returning the thirteenth, he 
said, ‘‘Good woman, you grow troublesome;” but yet he 
gave her. The old woman, at hearing these words, said, 
“The prodigious generosity of Nathan! O how greatly is it 
to be admired! I went in at all the thirty-two gates which 
are at his palace, as well as this, and received an alms at 
every one, without being known all the time, as it seemed 
to me, and here I come but thirteen, and am known and 
flouted!” and so went away without ever coming there 
more. Mithridanes, imagining that this concerning Nathan 
was a diminution of his own fame, grew extremely incensed, 
and said, ‘‘ Alas! when shall I come up to Nathan in great 
things, not to say surpass him, as is my intention, when I fall 
short even in the smallest matters? Undoubtedly, it is all 
labour in vain, unless I dismiss him from the world, which, 
seeing old age ineffectual, I must do instantly with my own 
hands. So rising up in a passion, without making any one 
acquainted with his design, he mounted his horse, taking 
very few attendants with him, and the third day he arrived 
at Nathan’s palace, when he ordered his people not to seem 
to belong to him, but provide themselves with lodgings till 
they heard further from him. Coming there towards the 
evening, and being left by himself, he found Nathan alone 
Q2 


ad 


490 THE DECAMERON 


not far from his palace, taking a walk for his amusement, 
in a very plain habit, when he, not knowing him, desired 
he would show him the way to Nathan’s dwelling. Nathan 
cheerfully replied, ‘Son, there is nobody in this country 
can show you better than myself; then, if you please, I 
will conduct you thither.” The young gentleman replied, 
‘IT should be extremely obliged to you; but could wish, if 
it were possible, neither to be seen nor known by Nathan.” 
—-‘*This also,” quoth Nathan, “I will do for you, if it be 
your design.” So he alighted, and walked along with him, 
falling agreeably into discourse together, till they came to 
the palace, when Nathan bid one of his servants take the 
horse, and he whispered in the fellow’s ear for him to 
acquaint all the people in the house that none of them 
should let the gentleman know he was Nathan, which was 
done. Being entered into the palace, he put Mithridanes 
into a very fine apartment, where nobody should:.see him 
but those whom he had appointed to wait upon: him; and 
showed him all possible respect, himself constabiy; keeping 
him company. 

After Mithridanes had been for some time’ with him, he 
asked, with a great deal of reverence, who he was. ._When 
he replied, ‘‘] am_an inferior servant of Nathan’s, who have 
grown old in his service, and yet he never promoted: me 
to anything more than what you see me; and, therefore, 
though other people commend him, Ihave little reason: to 
do so.” These words gave Mithridanes:some hopes-that 
he might the better and more securely effect his base pur- 
pose. Nathan then inquired very courteously, of- him 
concerning who he was, and the occasion: of his coming 
thither, offering him his best advice and assistance... Mithri- 
danes hesitated a little upon that, but at length resolved to 
let him. into his design; so, after a long preamble request- | 
ing secrecy, and that: he would Jend: him a helping hand, 
he declared who he was, what he came thither for;:and his 
inducement. Nathan, hearing his detestable resolution, 
was quite changed within himself; nevertheless, without 
any appearance thereof, he replied boldly, and with a:steady 
countenance, “‘ Mithridanes, your father was truly a noble 
person, nor are you willing to degenerate, having .under- 


TENTH. DAY 491 


taken so glorious an enterprise as is that of being liberal to 
all people; I do greatly commend the envy you bear to 
Nathan’s virtue, because, were there many more men of the 
same principle, the world, though bad enough at present, 
would soon grow better. Your affair I shall most assuredly 
keep secret, which I can further more by my advice, than 
any help I am able to give you, and that in the following 
manner :— 

** About half a mile from hence is a grove, where he 
generally takes a walk for a considerable time every morn- 
ing ; there you may easily meet with him, and do what you 
purpose. If you should kill him, in order to return home 
without any hindrance, do not go the way you came, but 
take a path that leads out of the grove to the left, which, 
though not so much frequented as the other, is yet a shorter 
way to your house, as well as more secure.” When Mith- 
ridanes had received this instruction, and Nathan was de- 
parted, he let his attendants, that were in the same house, 
know privately where they were to wait for him the next 
day. And early in the morning Nathan arose, his mind 
being no way changed from the counsel given to Mithri- 
danes, and went to the grove with a design of meeting with 
his death. Mithridanes also took his bow and sword, having 
no other weapon, and rode to the same place, where he 
saw Nathan walking at a distance by himself; and being 
minded before he put him to death, to hear what he had 
to say, he laid hold of the turban’ that was upon his head, 
and cried out, ‘‘ Old dotard! thou arta dead man.” Nathan 
made no reply but this: ‘‘ Then I have deserved it.” Mithri- 
danes, hearing: his voice, and looking in his face, found it 
was the same person that had so kindly received him, kept 
him company, and faithfully advised him: upon which his 
rage and malice were turned into shame and remorse, and 
throwing away his sword, which he had ready drawn to stab 
him, he dismounted, and fell with tears at his feet, saying, 
‘My dearest father, I am now convinced of your liberality, 
considering what pains you have taken to bestow your life 
upon me, which I was very unjustly desirous of having. 
But God, more:careful of my doing my duty than I was 
myself, opened the eyes of my understanding, which envy 


492 THE DECAMERON 


had closed, at a time when there was the greatest need of 
it. The more ready, therefore, you were to oblige me, so 
much the greater I acknowledge my remorse to be. Take 
that revenge then, of me which you think adequate to the 
nature of my crime.” Nathan raised him up and embraced 
him, saying, ‘Son, your design, call it wicked, or what 
you will, needs neither your asking any pardon nor yet my 
granting it; because it was out of no hatred, but only a 
desire to excel. Be assured, then, there is nobody regards 
you more than I do, considering the greatness of your soul, 
which was given you not for the amassing of wealth, as is 
the case of misers, but the distribution of it; be not ashamed 
of your design of cutting me off, to become more famous, 
nor think I am at all surprised at it: the greatest monarchs, 
by no other art than that of killing not one man only, as 
you would have done, but infinite numbers, destroying 
whole countries, and laying cities in ruins, have enlarged 
their empire, and consequently their fame. Therefore, to 
kill me alone, to make yourself famous, is neither new nor 
strange.” Mithridanes far from excusing his evil intent, 
but commending Nathan’s honest gloss upon it, proceeded 
so far as to tell him, that he wondered exceedingly how he 
could bring himself to such a readiness to die, and be even 
advising and aiding to it. 

When Nathan replied, ‘I would not have you wonder 
at all at it; for ever since I have been my own master, 
and resolved to do that wherein you have endeavoured to 
follow my example, nobody ever came to my house, whom 
IT did not content to the utmost of my power, as to what 
was required of me. Now it was your fortune to come for 
my life; therefore, that you should not be the only person 
who went away ungratified, I resolved to give it, advising. 
you in such a manner that you might be secure of it with- 
out losing your own. Therefore I conjure you to take it, 
if it will be any pleasure to you: I do not know how I can 
better bestow it. Eighty years have I had the full enjoy- 
ment of it; and, according to the course of nature, and as 
it fares with other men, and all other things, I can keep it 
but very little time longer: so I hold it better to part with it 
of my own accord, as I have done my wealth and estate, than 


TENTH DAY 493 


to keep it till it is wrested from me by nature. A hundred 
years are no great matter; what then, are six or eight, 
which are all that are left me? Take it, then, I say again, 
if you please, for I never. met with any one before that 
desired it, nor do I expect any other will accept it, if you 
do not. Besides, the longer it is kept, of the less value it 
grows, so take it once for all, whilst it is worth something.” 
Mithridanes was extremely confounded and said, ‘‘God 
forbid that, so far from touching a thing of the value your 
life is, I should even desire it as I did just now. Instead 
of lessening your years, I would willingly add of my own, 
if it were possible.”—‘‘ And would you,” he replied, ‘if 
you could? That would be doing to you what I have 
done yet to no one, I mean robbing you to enrich my- 
self. But I will tell you what you shall do: you shall come 
and live here, and be called Nathan, and I will go to 
your house, and take the name of Mithridanes.” He 
replied, ‘“‘If I knew how to behave as well as you do, I 
should readily embrace your offer; but as I am sensible I 
should only lessen the fame of Nathan, I shall never seek 
to impair that in another which I cannot increase in myself, 
s0 pray excuse me.” With these and more such compli- 
ments, they returned to the palace, where Nathan showed 
great respect to Mithridanes, confirming him in his great 
and noble design; who, being disposed to return home, 
took his leave, fully convinced that he could never come 
up to Nathan in liberality. 


NOVEL IV 


Signor Gentil de’ Carisendi takes a lady out of her grave, whom he had 
loved, and whowas buried for dead. She recovers, and ts brought to 
bed of a son, which he presents along with the lady to her husband. 


It seemed strange to them all for a man to be lavish of his 
blood, and it was agreed that Nathan had outdone both the 
King of Spain and the Abbot of Cligni. When the king 
signified his will to Lauretta that she should begin, which 
she did to this effect -— 


494 THE DECAMERON 


Great, as well as beautiful, most noble ladies, are the 
incidents which have been already related, nor does any- 
thing seem wanting, in my opinion, to bring our argument 
home to the subject, but that we take in the affair of love, 
which affords matter enough for discourse upon any ques- 
tion whatever. For this reason, then, and as it is always 
an agreeable topic to youth, I shall mention the generosity 
of an enamoured young gentleman, which, all things con- 
sidered, will appear, perhaps, no way inferior to the others: 
if it be true that people give away their wealth, forget 
animosities, run a thousand risks of their lives, and, what 
is more, their fame and honour too, and all to come at the 
thing desired. 

In Bologna was a knight, of great consequence and 
worth, called Gentil Carisendi, who was in love with Cata- 
lina, the wife of Niccoluccio Caccianimico; and, meeting 
with no return, he went in a kind of despair to Modena, 
whither he was called as Podesta. In the meantime, 
Niccoluccio being absent from Bologna, and his lady at 
a country-house about three miles distant, where she was 
gone to stay, being with child, it happened she was taken 
with an hysteric fit, which quite extinguished all signs of 
life, so that her physician declared her dead. And because 
her acquaintance said they had been informed by her that 
she was not quick with child, she was immediately buried 
in a vault belonging to a neighbouring church. This was 
soon signified by a friend to Signor Gentil, who, though he 
had never received the least mark of her favour, grieved 
extremely, saying at last to himself, “ Behold, my dear 
Catalina, you are dead; living you would never deign me 
one kind look ; now, however, that you cannot prevent it, 
I will please myself with a kiss.” So, giving orders that his 
departure should be a secret, towards evening he mounted - 
his horse, and taking a servant along with him, .he rode 
directly to the vault where she was buried, which he opened, 
and lying down by her, he put his cheek to hers, and wept. 
At length, laying his hands. for some time upon her bosom, 
he thought he felt something beat, when, throwing all fear 
aside, and attending more nicely to the circumstance; he 
was convinced she had a smail spark of life’ remaining 


TENTH DAY 495 


in her; therefore, by the help of his servant, he took he1 
out of the vault as gently as possible, and, laying her upon 
the horse, he brought her privately to his house at Bologna. 
There his mother, a worthy, good lady, having the whole 
account from him, by warm baths and other means, soon 
brought" her to herself; when, after fetching a deep sigh, 
she said, “Alas! where am I?” The good lady replied, 
“Make yourself easy, you are in a very good place.” 
Looking then all round, and seeing Signor Gentil before 
her, her astonishment was great, and she desired his 
mother to inform her by what means she had come thither. 
He then related everything to her; at which she was con- 
cerned, and, after giving due thanks, she requested of him, 
by his love and generous deportment, to attempt nothing 
contrary to her honour and that of her husband, and that, 
when it was daylight, he would suffer her to go home. 
** Madam,” he replied, ‘‘ whatever my love has been hereto- 
fore, I promise both now and hereafter, seeing I have been 
so fortunate as to bring you to life, to use you with the same 
regard as I would my sister; but, as I think myself entitled 
to some reward, I must insist upon your granting me one 
favour.” —‘“‘Sir,” said she, “‘you may command anything 
from me consistent with modesty.” He made answer, 
** Madam, your relations and all the people of Bologna 
are assured of your being dead; therefore I insist only 
upon your staying here with my mother till I return from 
Modena, which will be very soon. My reason is, that 1 
would then, in the presence of the principal inhabitants 
here, make a valuable and solemn present of you ‘to your 
husband.” The lady, knowing her obligations to the 
knight, and that his demand was honourable, consented, 
and gave her word to abide by it, notwithstanding she 
longed extremely to gratify her relations with the news of 
her being alive. And whilst they were talking, she felt 
labour-pains come upon’ ‘her, and she was soon delivered 
of a‘son, which added greatly to their’joy. Signor. Gentil 
ordered that she should have the same care taken’ of her 
as if she had been his own wife; and then returned privately 
to Modena. ‘There he continued till the expiration of his 
office, and the morning he was to come home, he ordered 


496 THE, DECAMERON 


a great entertainment to be: made at his» house, to which 
Niccoluccio Caccianimico, with many -of the © principal 
citizens, were invited: and after he had dismounted, and 
found the company waiting for him, understanding too 
that the lady and child were both very well, he received 
them all with a great deal of joy; and dinner was imme- 
diately served up in the most magnificent manner possible. 
Towards the end, having concerted everything beforehand 
with the lady, he addressed himself to his guests in the 
following manner: ‘Gentlemen, I remember to have 
heard of a pretty custom in Persia, that when any one has 
a mind to show the greatest respect in his power to any of 
his friends, that he invites them to his house, and produces 
that thing, be. it what it will, wife, mistress, or daughter, that 
is most dear to him, declaring thereby that he would, if he 
was able, lay his very heart before them. This;custom I 
mean to introduce at Bologna. You do me. honour with 
your company at this feast, and I will return it, by showing 
that thing which is the most, dear to me of all that I have 
in the world, or ever shall possess... But I: must first beg 
your solution of a difficulty which I am going to start to 
you. 

‘A certain person had a very honest and trusty servant, 
who was taken extremely ill, whom, without more to do, 
he sent out into the street.in that condition; when a 
stranger, out of mere compassion, took him into his house, 
and with a great deal of trouble and expense had him 
restored to his former health. Now I would gladly know 
whether the first master has any right to complain of the 
second, for keeping him in his service, and refusing to 
restore him.” This occasioned a great deal of argument, 
- and all agreed at last in opinion, leaving Niccoluccie 
Caccianimico, who was an elegant speaker, to report it. 
He, therefore, after commending the Persian custom, said, 
they were all persuaded that the first master had no righs, 
after he had not only abandoned him, but thrown him away 
as it were; and that, on account of the kindness done to 
him, he justly belonged to the second, who. offered’ no 
violence or injury to the first in detaining him. . The rest 
of the company, being all wise and worthy persons, declared 


TENTH DAY 499 


that they joined in opinion with Niccoluccio.. When the 
knight, pleased with the answer, and having it too from 
Niccoluccio, affirmed that those were his sentiments, adding, 
‘It is now time for me to honour you according to promise.” 
So he sent two of his servants to the lady, whom he had 
taken care to be very gaily. dressed, desiring. her to favour 
his guests with her company. Accordingly, she came into 
the hall, followed by two servants, with the little infant in 
her arms, And after she had seated herself, he said, ‘* Be- 
hold, this is what I value beyond everything else; see if 
you think I am in the right.”. The gentlemen all praised 
her extremeiy, pronouncing her worthy of his esteem: and, 
after looking more nicely at her, many of them were going 
to have owned her, had it not been that they thought her 
dead. But none viewed her so muchas Niccoluccio, who, 
the knight having stepped.a little aside, grew impatient to 
know who she was; and, unable any longer to contain 
himself, demanded of her if she was a citizen or stranger. 
The lady, hearing this from her husband, could scarcely 
refrain from giving him an answer, yet, in regard to her 
injunctions, she held her peace. Another inquired whether 
that was her child; and a third, whether she was wife, or 
any relation to Signor Gentil. | Still she made no reply to 
any. So when the knight returned, one of the company 
said, ‘‘Sir, this is really a pretty creature, but she appears 
to be dumb: is: she actually so?” © ‘*Gentlemen,” he 
replied, ‘‘her silence is no small argument of her virtue.” — 
‘Tell us, then,” quoth one, ‘who she is.” ‘*That I will,” 
said the knight, “‘ with all my heart, if you will promise me 
in the meantime that none of you stir from your places till 
I have made an end.” This being agreed, and the tables 
all removed, he went and sat down by her, saying, ‘‘ Gentle- 
men, this lady is that good and faithful servant of whom I 
proposed the question; who, being set at nought by her 
friends, and thrown into the street, as it were, for a thing 
of no account, was by me with great care taken up, and 
_ redeemed from death, and from so terrible an object as she 
once was, brought to what you now see. . But, for your 
- more perfect understanding of what has happened, I will 
make it plain to you in a few words.” So he began from 


498 THE DECAMERON 


his being first enamoured, and related everything particu- 
larly that had happened, to the great amazement of the 
hearers ; adding, at last, ‘‘ For these reasons, if you stick 
to what you said just now, and Niccoluccio especially, the 
lady is mine, and nobody has any right to demand her 
from me.” No reply was made to this, but all stood 
expecting to hear what he had further to say. In the 
meantime, Niccoluccio and the rest’of the company, as 
well as the lady, were so affected, that they all wept. © But 
Signor Gentil arose, and taking the child invhis arms, and 
the lady by the hand, he went towards Niccoluccio, and 
said, “Rise, my friend; behold I do not give you your 
wife, whom you and her relations had thrown away, but I 
bestow this lady upon you, as an acquaintance of mine, 
along with her little son, which is yours, and whom I have 
called by my own name: and I entreat you not to have the 
worse opinion of her, for having been three months in my 
house ; for I. call Heaven to witness, that, though my love 
was the cause of her being preserved, she has lived with the 
same honour in my house, along with my mother, as. she 
could have done with her own parent.” Then, turning to 
the lady, he said, “Madam, I now acquit you of your 
promise, and give you freely up to your husband.”: So 
giving him the lady and the child into his arms, he re- 
turned, and sat down. Niccoluccio received them with the 
greater joy, as it was the more unexpected, loading the 
knight with infinite thanks, whilst the company, who could 
not refrain from weeping, highly commended his generosity, 
as did every one also that heard it. The lady now was 
brought to her own house with great demonstrations of 
joy, and the people all beheld her with the same wonder ~ 
as if she had been raised from the dead.’ “Moreover; the — 
knight was in the greatest esteem ever after, both with her © 
and Niccoluccio, as well as their relations and friends. 
What will you say, then, ladies? Is aking’s giving away — 
his crown and sceptre,.an abbot’s reconciling a malefactor 
to the pope, or an old man’s offering his throat to an 
enemy’s'dagger, anything like this action of Signor, Gentil’s ? 
who, being in the: bloom and heat’of!‘youth, and seeming — 
to have a good title to that which other people’s careless- 


TENTH DAY 499 


ness had thrown away, and he by good fortune happened 
to pick up, not only restrained his desire, much to his 
honour, but generously resigned what he had entirely 
coveted, and sought at all events to possess. To me they 
seem no way comparable. 


NOVEL V 


Dianora requires Ansaldo to present her with a garden in January as 
beautiful as in May. He engages a necromancer to do it. Her 
husband, upon this, gives her leave to keep her word with Ansaldo; 
who, hearing of the husband’s generosity, quits her of her promise ; 
and the necromancer likewise takes nothing for his trouble. 


SIGNOR GENTIL was extolled to the very skies by the whole 
assembly, when the king ordered Emilia to follow; who 
immediately, as though she were desirous of speaking, began 
in this manner :— 

There is no one but must allow that Signor Gentil did a 
very noble action, but to say that nothing greater could be 
done is saying too much, as I shall show in a very short 
novel. 

In the country of Frioli, which, though very cold, is yet 
beautified with many pleasant mountains, fine rivers, and 
crystal springs, is a place called Udine, where lived a 
worthy lady, named Dianora, the wife of a very agreeable 
man, and one of great wealth, called Gilberto. Now she 
had taken the fancy of a great and noble lord, called 
Ansaldo, one of extraordinary generosity and prowess, and 
known ‘to all the country; who used frequently to solicit 
her with messages and offers ‘of love, but in vain. At 
length, being quite wearied with his importunity, and 
seeing that he still persisted, notwithstanding her repeated 
denials, she resolved to rid herself of him’ by a new, and, 
as*she thought, impossible demand. So she said to his 
emissary one day, ‘‘Good: woman, you have often told me 
that Ansaldo loves me beyond all the world, and have 
offered ‘me great presents.on his part, which he may keep 
to’ himself, for I shall never’ be prevailed upon to a com- 
pliance in that manner. Could I be assured, indeed, that 


500 THE DECAMERON 


his love is. really such as you say, them J should certainly 
be, brought to return it: therefore, if he will convince me 
of that by a proof which I shall:require, I will instantly be 
at his service.” ‘‘ What is it, then,” quoth the good woman, 
‘that you desire him to do?” ‘It is this,” she replied: 
“T would have a garden in the month of January, which is 
now coming on, as full of green herbs, flowers, and trees 
laden with fruit, as though it were the month of May: 
unless he does this for me, charge him to trouble me no 
more, for that I will instantly.make a complaint to my 
husband and all my friends.” 

He being acquainted with the demand, which seemed 
next to an impossibility, and knowing that it was contrived 
on purpose to deprive him of all hopes of success, resolved 
yet to try all possible means in such a.case, sending. to 
every part of the world to find out a person able to assist 
him; when at length he. met. with a magician, who would 
undertake it for a large sum of money; and having agreed 
upon a price, he waited impatiently for the time of its being 
done, On the first of January, therefore, at night, the cold 
being extreme, and everything covered with snow, this wise 
man, in a meadow near to the city, made one of the finest 
gardens spring up. that ever was seen, filled with all kinds 
of herbs, flowers, and. fruits, which Ansaldo saw with infinite 
pleasure, and picking some of the fairest fruit and flowers, 
he sent them privately to the lady, inviting her to come and 
see the garden which she had required, in order to be con- 
vinced of his love, and that she might call to mind the 
promise she had made, and so be reputed a woman of her 
word. The lady, viewing the present, and hearing also 
from many people of this wonderful garden, began to 
repent of what she had done. But with all this repentance, 
being still desirous of seeing strange sights, she went thither 
with many more ladies, and having highly commended it, 
returned home sorrowful enough, thinking of her engage- 
ment. She continued so very uneasy, that her husband at 
last perceived it, and demanded the reason. For some 
time she was ashamed to speak, but being constrained at 
last, she related the whole thing. Gilberto was greatly 
disturbed about it, till, considering the upright intention of 


TENTH DAY 50% 


his lady in the affair, he began’ to be something pacified, 
and said, “No wise and virtuous lady would ever receive 
any messages, or make: any conditions with regard to her 
chastity. Words have a more ready admittance to the 
heart than many people imagine, and with lovers nothing 
is impossible. You were highly to blame first to listen, 
and afterwards to covenant: but as I know the purity 
of your intention, and to, free you from your engage- 
ment, I will grant what nobody else would do in such 
a case. For fear of this necromancer, who, by Ansaldo’s 
instigation, may do us some mischief if you disappoint 
him, I consent that you go to Ansaldo, and if you can 
by any means get quit of that tie with safety to your 
honour, that you endeavour to do it, otherwise that you 
comply, in deed, though your will be chaste and pure.” She 
wept and showed great reluctance, but he insisted upon it. 
So, early in the morning, without any great care to make 
herself fine, she went with her woman and two men-servants 
to Ansaldo’s house, who, hearing the lady was there, arose 
with great surprise, and called the wise man, saying to him, 
‘*VYou shall now see the effect of your skill.” So he went 
to meet her, and showed her into a handsome room, where 
there was a great fire, and sitting down together, he said, 
“Madam, I beg; if the long regard I have had for you merit 
any reward, that you would please to tell me why you come 
here at this time, and with this company.” She blushed, 
and replied, with tears, ‘Sir, it is neither love, nor yet 
regard to my promise, but merely my husband’s order, 
who, showing more respect to the labours of your inordinate 
love than his honour and mine, has forced me to come 
hither ; therefore, as it is commanded, I submit to your 
pleasurex’ If Ansaldo was surprised at the sight of the 
lady, he was now much more so at hearing her talk; and, 
being moved with Gilberto’s generosity, his love was changed 
into compassion, and he said, ‘‘ Madam, Heaven forbid that 
I should ever take away the honour of a person who has 
showed such pity for my love: therefore, you are as safe 
with me as if you were my sister, and when it seems good 
to you, you may depart, upon condition that you tender 
your husband, in my name, those thanks which you think 


502 THE DECAMERON 


are due to his great generosity, requesting him. for the time 
to come, to esteem me always as his brother and faithful 
servant.” The lady, overjoyed with this, replied, ‘* All the 
world, sir, could never make me believe, when I consider 
your character, that anything could have happened on my 
coming hither, otherwise than now it has done; for which 
I shall always be obliged to you.” So she took her leave, 
and returned to her husband, when, relating what had 
happened, it proved the occasion of a strict friendship ever 
after between him and Ansaldo. The necromancer now 
being about to receive his reward, and having observed 
Gilberto’s generosity to Ansaido, and that of Ansaldo to 
the lady, said, “As Gilberto has been so liberal of his 
honour, and you of your love, you shall give me leave to 
be the same with regard to my pay: knowing it then to be 
worthily employed, I design it shall-be yours.” Ansaldo 
was ashamed, and pressed him. to take all or part, but in 
vain. And after the third day was passed that the necro- 
mancer had taken away his: garden, and was willing to 
depart, he, thankfully dismissed him, having extinguished 
his inordinate desires out of a mere principle of honour. 
What say you now, ladies ?, Shall we prefer the dead lady 
and the love of Gentil, grown cold, as destitute of all hope, 
to, the liberality.of Ansaldo, who loved more than ever, and 
who.was fired with the greater expectation, since the prey 
so long pursued was then in his power? It is mere folly 
to suppose that generosity can ever be compared to this. 


NOVEL VI 


Old King Charles, surnamed the Victorious, being in love with a young 
lady, and ashamed afterwards Zi. his folly, marries bath her and her 
sister much to their advantage. 


Wuo can recount the various disputes that arose amongst 
the company, whether Gilberto’s generosity, or Ansaldo’s, 
or, lastly, the necromancer’s, with regard to Dianora, was 
the greatest?, Surely it would be too tedious: at this time. 
But the king, after suffering them to disputea while, ordered 


TENTH DAY 503 


Flammetta to put an end to the debate ; who began presently 
to this effect :-— Bie 

Ladies, I was always of opinion that, in such company 
as ours, people should speak so fully as to leave no room 
for doubt concerning the meaning of anything that is 
advanced ; for disputes more properly belong to students 
in the schools than tous, who can scarcely manage our 
wheels and our distaffs.. Therefore, seeing you have been 
already embroiled, I shall leave something of doubt which 
I was going to mention, to relate an affair of no insignificant 
person, but of a most mighty king, stating how he behaved 
with. regard to his honour. 

You must all have heard of King Charles the Ancient, or 
the First, by whose glorious enterprise and great victory 
obtained over King Manfredi, the Ghibelline faction was 
driven out of Florence, and the Guelphs restored. On 
which account acertain knight, called Neri degli Uberti, 
departed with his whole family and great store of wealth, 
meaning yet to live under the protection of no other king; 
and choosing a solitary place, witha design to end his days 
in quiet, he went to Castello da Mare, where he purchased, 
about a bow-shot from all other houses, amongst the olives 
and chestnuts with which that place abounds, a little estate, 
and built'a small convenient house upon it, by the side of 
which wasa most delightful garden, and in the middle of 
that, according to our taste, as there was a great command 
of water, he made a fine canal, storing it well with fish; .and 
attending only to the care of his garden, it happened that 
King Charles came during the summer to amuse himself at 
Castello: da Mare fora few days; when, hearing of Neri’s 
fine garden, he hada great desire to see it ; and, considering 
he was of the adverse: party, he resolved to use the more 
familiarity‘towards him ; so he sent him word, that he and 
four friends should come and sup with him the next evening 
in his garden. This was an agreeable message to Signor Neri, 
who made the necessary provision for his entertainment, 
receiving him afterwards in the best:manner he was able. 
The king highly commended both the houses and garden; 
and the table being spread: by the:side of the! canal, he sat 
down, ordering Count Guido di Monforte, who was amongst 


504 THE DECAMERON 


his attendants, to sit on one side, and Signor Neri on the 
other ; and as for the remaining three, they sat as they were 
placed by Signor Neri. Supper now was served up in the 
most delicate order, with the best and richest wine, greatly 
to the king’s liking; and whilst: he was eating, with great 
admiration of the beauty of the place, two young damsels, 
of about fifteen years of age, entered the garden, with their 
hair like golden:wire, most curiously curled, and garlands 
of flowers upon their heads, whilst their mien and deport- 
ment bespoke them rather angels than mortal creatures: 
their garments were of fine linen cloth, as white as snow, 
which were girt round their waists, and hung in large folds 
from thence to their feet. She that came first had two 
fishing-nets, which she carried in her left hand upon her 
shoulder, andvin her right was a long stick: the other that 
followed had a frying-pan upon her left shoulder, and under 
the same arm a faggot of wood, with a trevet in her hand, 
and. in the other hand a bottle of oil and a lighted torch ; 
at which the king was greatly surprised, and waited atten- 
tively to see what it meant. 

The damsels being come before him, made their obeis- 
ance in the humblest and modestest manner; and. at the 
entrance of the pond, she that had the pan with the other 
things, laid them down upon the ground; and taking up 
the stick which the other carried, they both stepped into 
the canal, the water of which came up to their breasts. A 
servant immediately kindled a fire, and laying the pan 
upon the trevet, and putting oil therein, he began to wait 
till the damsels should throw him some fish. So one of 
them beating the places where the fish lay, and the other 
holding the net, they soon caught fish enough, to the great 
diversion of the king; and throwing them to the servant, 
who put them alive as it were into the pan, they took out 
some of the finest, as they had been before instructed, and 
cast them upon the table before the king, Count Guido, and 
their father. The king was highly delighted with seeing 
them jump about, and he took and tossed them about in 
like manner, and so they diverted themselves, till the 
servant had fried that which he had in his pan, which 
was set before the king by Signor Neri’s order, more as a 


TENTH DAY 505 


curiosity than anything nice and dainty. The damsels, 
thinking they had now done enough, came out of the 
water, with their garments hanging about them in sucha 
manner as scarcely to conceal any part cf their bodies, and 
modestly saluting the king as before, they returned into the 
house. The king, with the count and gentlemen that 
attended, were much taken with their extraordinary beauty 
and modest behaviour: the king especially, who was per- 
fectly lost in admiration, and finding a secret passion steal- 
ing upon him, without knowing which to prefer, they were 
so exactly alike, he turned to Signor Neri, and asked who 
_those two damsels were. When he replied; ‘My lord, 
they are my daughters, born at a birth, one of whom is 
called Gineura, the pretty, and the other Isotto, the fair.” 
The king commended them very much, and advised him 
to marry them; but he excused himself, alleging that he 
was not in circumstances to do it. Nothing now remained 
to be served up but the dessert, when the two ladies: came 
attired in rich satin, with two silver dishes in their hands, 
full of all manner of fruit, which they set before the king ; 
and retiring afterwards to some distance, they sang a song, 
beginning in the following manner: 


‘““Thy power, O love! who can resist?” &c., 


with such exquisite sweetness, that it seemed'to the king as 
if choirs of angels were descended from heaven for his enter- 
tainment. No sooner was the song ended, but they fell upon 
their kneés before him, to take their leave, which the king, 
though he was secretly grieved at it, seemed graciously to 
comply with. When supper was concluded, the king, with his 
attendants, mounted their horses, and returned to the palace, 
where, being unable to forego the love that he had conceived 
for Gineura, for whose sake he also loved her sister, as 
resembling each other, he grew so uneasy that he could think 
of nothing else; upon which accounthe cultivated, under 
other pretences, a strict friendship with the father, and 
used frequently to visit him at his garden, in order to see 
Gineura; till, unable to contain any longer, seeing he 
could think of no better way, he resolved to take not one 
only, but both from him by force, and be signified his 


506 THE DECAMERON 


intention to Count Guido, who, being a nobleman of strict 
honour, said to this effect: “My liege, I am greatly sur- 
prised at what you now say, and more perhaps than any 
other person would be, since I have known you more, even 
from. your infancy, and as I never remember any such 
thing of you in your youth, when ‘love has the greatest 
power over us, it seems so odd and out of the way, that I 
can scarcely give credit to it. Did it become me to reprove 
you, I know very well what I might say, considering that 
you are yet in arms in a’ kingdom newly conquered, 
amongst a people not known to: you, abounding with 
treachery and deceit, and have many great and weighty 
affairs upon your hands; yet you can sit down atiease in 
such circumstances, and give way to such an idle passion 
as love. This is not like’a great king, so much as an 
inglorious stripling. And what‘is worse, you' say you are 
resolved to take the two daughters away from a’ poor 
gentleman, whom he had. to’ wait upon’ you out of: his 
abundant respect, as well as to show his great confidence 
in you, believing you to be a generous prince, and not a 
rapacious wolf: Have you so soon forgotten that it was 
Manfredi’s taking the same liberties which opened your 
way to this kingdom? Can there be a baser crime than to 
take away from one that honours you, his honour, his hope, 
and entire comfort? What will people say in such a case? 
Do you think it any excuse, his: being of a different party? 
Is this kingly justice, to treat people in that manner, be 
they of what party they will, that throw themselves under 
your protection? It was great glory to conquer Manfredi, 
but, let me tell you, it will be much greater to conquer 
yourself. You, therefore, who are ordained to correct 
vice in others, learn to subdue your own; curb that unruly 
appetite, nor stain with so foul a blot the' character you 
have so gloriously acquired.” These words touched the 
king to the quick, and so much the more as he knew them 
to be true: therefore he sighed, and'said, ‘*Count, I hold 
it an easy conquest over any enemy, however formidable, 
compared to one’s own passion; but, be the difficulty ever 
so great, such is the force of your words, that, before many 
days are past, I will convince’ you, if: I know how to con- 


‘TENTH DAY 507 


quer others, that 1 am able also to withstand myself.” So 
he went to Naples soon after, when, to put it out of his 
power to do a base thing, as well as to reward the knight for 
the favours shown him, he resolved, however grating it 
seemed, to give another the possession of that which he 
himself coveted, to marry both the ladies, not as Signor 
Neri’s daughters, but his own. Bestowing, then, large 
fortunes upon them, Gineura, the pretty, he gave to Signor 
Maffeo da Palizzi; and Isotto, the fair, to Signor Gulielmo 
della Magna, both worthy knights, retiring himself after- 
wards to Puglia; where, with great pains and trouble, he 
got the better at last of his passion, and lived with ease and 
quiet ever after. Now some people, perhaps, may say, that 
it isa small thing fora king to have bestowed two ladies in 
marriage. I allow it: but for a king to give away the very 
lady that he himself was in love with, and without plucking 
the least bud, flower, or fruit of his love, that I will main- 
tain to be great indeed. Such, then, were the virtues: of 
this most generous king ; rewarding the courtesy of a noble 
knight, showing a great and proper regard to his beloved 
fair one, and subduing his own desires with strict resolution 
and honour. 


NOVEL Vit 


King Pietro, knowing that a lady was love-sick for him, makes her a 
visit, and marries her to a worthy gentleman; then kissing her 
forehead, calls himself ever afterwards her knight. 


FLAMMETTA’s novel was concluded, and the manly king’s 
generosity much commended, although there were some of 
the Ghibelline faction present that seemed not to relish 
it; when Pampinea, Lagat the a command, began as 
follows :— 

Every one must praise the king for what he did, except- 
ing such as bear him ill-will upon some other account; but 
as I now call to mind a thing no less praiseworthy, that 
was done by an enemy of his to a lady of our city, I shall 
beg leave to relate it. 

At the time »when the French were driven out of Sicily, 
there dwelt at Palermo, a Florentine apothecary, called 


508 THE DECAMERON 


Bernardo Puccini, one of very great substance, and who 
had an only daughter, a fine young lady, and of age to be! 
married. Now King Pietro being become lord of the 
whole island, made a great feast for all his barons at 
Palermo; and, jousting in the street called Catalana, it 
chanced that Barnardo’s daughter, whose name was Lisa, 
observed him, as she was in company with other ladies, 
out of a window, with great pleasure, and she gazed so long, 
that at last she found herself deeply in love. The feast 
being over, she returned home, still, thinking of nothing 
but this great and exalted love. But what troubled her 
most was the consideration of her mean rank, which left 
her. no hopes. of success; nevertheless, she’ would by no 
means withdraw her affection, at the same time that she 
was afraid to disclose it. Love thus getting every day 
more power over her, the fair maid, unable to hold up any 
longer, fell at last into a languishing sickness, wasting 
manifestly like snow before the sun. The father and 
mother, by their own continual care, as well as the help of 
physicians, did all in their power to relieve her, but to no 
purpose; she despaired in her love, and so desired to die. 
Now one day it happened, as the father was offering his 
best services, that a thought came into her head, to make 
her love known to the king before her death, and she desired 
that Minuccio d’Arezzo might cometoher. This Minuccio 
was a fine singer, and often with the king. The father, 
therefore, supposing that she had a mind to be a little 
diverted, sent for him; when he came and played a tune 
or two upon his violin, and sang her several songs, which, 
instead of appeasing, only added to her love. At length 
she expressed a desire to speak to him in private; so every 
one else having left the room, she spoke to this purpose: 
‘‘Minuccio, I have chosen to entrust you with a secret, 
hoping in the first place, that you will only reveal it to the 
person concerned ; and secondly, I desire you would assist 
me to the utmost of your power. The case, you must 
know, is this: the day of King Pietro’s rejoicing for his 
accession, I fell so much in love on seeing him run his 
tilts, that it has brought me to what you see. Knowing, 
therefore, how ill-placed my loveis on a king, and not being 


TENTH DAY 509 


able to shake it off, or any way impair it, I have resolved, 
seeing it is too grievous to be borne, to die. It is true, I 
shall die with great uneasiness, unless he knows it first; 
and as I have nobody that I can trust in this affair but 
yourself, I therefore commit it entirely to you, in hope that 
you will not refuse me this service; and when you have 
done to let me know it, that so, being disburdened, I may 
die with more ease and comfort.” Minuccio was surprised 
both at the greatness of her soul, and her cruel resolution ; 
and being grieved for her, he thought of a way whereby 
he might fairly do her service; so he said, ‘‘ Madam, be 
assured I will never deceive you: I commend your fancy 
in the choice of so great a king, and offer you my best 
assistance, hoping that before three days are expired, I 
shall bring you news that will be agreeable. To lose no 
time, then, I will go directly about it.” She promised to 
comfort herself as well as she could, and wished him 
success. He consequently went to one Mico da Siena, a 
tolerable poet in those days, who, at his request, composed 
the following song :— 


CHORUS 


Go, love, and to my lord declare 
The torment which for him I find; 

Go, say I die, whilst still my fear 
Forbids me to declare my mind, 


I 


With hands uplifted, I thee pray, 
O love! that thou wouldst haste away, 
And gently to my lord impart 
The warmest wishes of my: heart ; 
Declare how great my sorrows seem, 
Which sighing, blushing, I endure for him, 
Go, love, &c. 


II 


Why was I not so bold to tell, 
For once, the passion that I feel? 
To him for whom I grieve alone, 
The anguish of my heart make known? 
He might rejoice to hear my grief 
Awaits his single pleasure for relief, 
Go, love, &c. 


$10 THE DECAMERON 


1iy 


But if this my request be vain, 
Nor other means of help remain, 
Yet say, that when in armour bright 
He march’d as if equipp’d for fight, _ 
Amidst his chiefs, that fatal day 
I saw, and gaz’d my very heart away. 
Go, love, &c. 


These words he set to a soft languishing air, as the 
subject required: and the third day he went to court, 
where the king was at dinner; and being ordered to give 
him a song, he began that, in such an easy, sweet manner, 
that all the people in the room seemed converted to 
statues; so silently, so attentively did they stand to 
listen. But the king was more affected than all the rest, 
and after Minuccio had made an end, he demanded why he 
had never heard that song before. ‘ My lord,” the other 
replied, ‘‘ the words and tune both are not yet three days 
old.” The king then inquiring whom it was they con- 
cerned, he made answer, “That I can only tell your 
majesty.” The king being desirous of knowing it, went 
with him into the chamber, as soon as the cloth was taken 
away, when Minuccio related the whole affair; with which 
the king seemed greatly pleased, and desired him to go 
directly to her, and assure her, on his part, that he would 
certainly visit her that evening. Minuccio, overjoyed to be 
the bearer of such news, went immediately with his violin, 
and after relating to her in private what had been done, he 
sung her the very song. From that time there appeared 
great signs of amendment; and, without any one having 
the least suspicion of it, she waited in full expectation of 
the evening, when she should see her lord. The king, who 
was a gracious and good prince, having thought much of 
what Minuccio told him, felt more and more pity for the 
lady, as being no stranger to her extraordinary beauty. So, 
getting on horseback in the evening, as if he was taking a 
ride, he rode to this apothecary’s house, desiring to see a 
fine garden that he had; where after walking for some 
time together, the king inquired what was become of his 


TENTH DAY 511 


daughter, and whether she was yet married. Bernardo 
replied, “‘“My lord, she is not married; she has been 
extremely ill, and is still so, though we think since nine 
o'clock, that she is wonderfully mended.” The king knew 
what that amendment meant, and said,.“‘ In good truth it 
would be a pity to lose such a pretty young lady; let us 
go and see her.” So he went with two attendants only, 
and the father, into the chamber: and going to the bed- 
side, where she sat raised up, and full of expectation at his 
coming, and taking her by the hand, he said, “ Fair maid, 
how comes it that you are ill? You are young, and should 
be a delight to others ; then why will you suffer this illness 
to prey upon you? For my sake be comforted, and get 
well.” The lady, feeling the touch of his hand, whom she 
loved beyond all the world, though she could not help 
blushing, thought herself in perfect paradise, and answered 
as well as she could: “My lord, by opposing my little 
strength to too heavy a burden, I have happened to 
languish in this manner; but you will soon see an amend- 
ment.” Only the king knew her covert way of speaking, 
and after he had stayed some time longer with her, and 
encouraged her as much as possible, he took his leave. 
This condescension of the king’s was much commended, 
and thought a great honour both to the apothecary and his 
daughter, who was as much pleased withit as any other 
lady:could be with her lover; and being assisted by better 
hopes, became in a little time quite well, and more fair 
than. ever. Some time after, the king, having consulted 
with the queen about it, on a day appointed, went on 
horseback, attended by many of his barons, to the apothe- 
cary’ house, and walking in the garden, he sent for him 
and his daughter. Presently after the queen came with 
a great number of ladies, and after they had spent some 
time in diversion, the king and queen called Lisa to them, 
when he said, ‘‘ Fair lady, your love for me has obtained 
you this favour, with which; for my sake, I beg you would 
be satisfied; what I mean is, to give you a husband, but 
still I would preserve the character of your knight, without 
requesting anything in return but a kiss.” She blushed, 
and replied, with a low and humble voice, to this effect : 


512 THE DECAMERON 


‘My lord, were it to be publicly known that I had fixed 
my affection upon your majesty, I doubt not but I should 
be reckoned the greatest of fools, and unacquainted with 
my Own meanness as much as your grandeur. But God, 
who knows my heart, is my judge, that I then thought of 
you as a great king, and of myself as an apothecary’s 
daughter, and was serisible how ill it became me to fix my 
love upon an object so infinitely above me. But your 
majesty knows, as well as myself, there is no choice in love, 
it is fancy only; I opposed my feeble might, which was all 
I could do; so that I did, do still, and always shall love 
you. Since, therefore, I have found myself captivated by 
you, I thought it my duty to make your will my own; if 
then, you would command anything else, I should certainly 
obey it. But for you, who are my king, to be called my 
knight, that it becomes me not to speak to, any more than 
the kiss, which you require as the sole recompense of my 
love, without leave from our lady the queen.. Nevertheless, 
for your great kindness towards me, as well as that-of the 
queen, may Heaven shower down its blessings upon you 
both ; for my part I am able to make no return.” Here 
she was silent. The queen was pleased with the lady’s 
reply, thinking her as prudent as the king had reported 
her; who instantly called for her father and mother, and 
finding they approved of his intention, he sent for a young 
gentleman of small fortune, whose name was Perdicone, 
and caused him, not unwillingly, to espouse her; when, 
besides many jewels and other valuable presents given by 
them both, he bestowed Ceffalu and Calatabellotta, two 
very considerable estates, upon them, saying, ‘‘ These I 
give by way of dowry with your wife; what I intend for 
yourself, you shall see some time hence.” Then, turning 
to her, he said, “I must now receive the fruit that is due 
to me from your love ;” and he just saluted her forehead. 
So the marriage was solemnised, to the great joy both of 
her husband, father, and mother: and many report that the 
king was very constant to his promise; for that, as long as 
he lived, he always styled himself her knight, and never 
carried any other token of favour upon: his arms, but what 
she sent him. Such actions as these gain the hearts.of the 


TENTH DAY 513 


people, serve as an example for others to imitate, and 
secure at last an everlasting fame. But there are few now- 
adays that trotble their heads about that, the greatest part 
of our princes being rather cruel tyrants. 


NOVEL VIII 


Sophronia, believing herself to be the wife of Gisippus, ts really married 
to Titus Quintus Fulvius, who carries her to Rome; where 
Gisippus arrives some time after in great distress, and, thinking 
himself despised by Titus, confesses himself guilty of a murder, in 
order to put an end to hits life. Titus recollects him, and, to save 
him, accuses himself ; which, when the murderer sees, he delivers 
himself up as.the guilty person. On which account they are all set 
at liberty MA Octavius, and. Titus marries Gisippus to his sister, 
and gives him half his estate. 


PHILOMENA now, by the king’s order (Pampinea having 
ceased to speak, and King Pietro being much commended 
by the whole company, but especially the Ghibelline lady) 
began in this manner :— 

We all know, ladies, that kings can do, as often as they 
are so disposed, everything that is great and noble. Such 
things are more particularly required of them. He, there- 
fore, that does his duty does well; but yet we should not 
wonder in that ‘manner, and extol them so highly for it, as 
we would do another, who, not having the ability, has less 
incumbent upon him, and yet does as much.’ If, therefore, 
you’ commend the actions of princes to that degree, and 
think them glorious, I make-no doubt but those of our 
equals will be much more admired ‘by you, when they are 
found to resemble, or ‘even exceed them. I shall, there 
fore, relate the great and noble behaviour of two citizens 
and friends. 

At the time when Overvirs Czesar (afterwards Augustus) 
governed the empire as one of the triumvirate, there dwelt 
at Rome a gentleman called Publius Quintus Fulvius, who 
having a son named Titus Quintus Fulvius, a youth of 
- wonderful parts and learning, sent him to Athens to study 
philosophy; recommending him to a nobleman there, 

R 


514 THE DECAMERON 


called Chremes, who was his old friend. This noble 
person kept him in his own house, as a companion to a 
son of his own, named Gisippus, and they were both put 
under the tuition of a philosopher, whose name was 
Aristippus. Being brought up thus together, their ways 
and tempers were so conformable, that a brotherly affection 
and strict friendship sprang up between them, inseparable 
by any other accident than death; nor had they either 
happiness or repose but in each other’s company. They 
began their studies together, and proceeded, as they had 
each an uncommon genius, to the greatest depths of 
philosophy with equal steps and marvellous applause. 
Thus they went on for three years, to the great joy of 
Chremes, who seemed to have the same regard for both; 
when it chanced»that he died, being stricken in years, at 
which they expressed a like concern: nor could it be well 
said which was most disconsolate. In afew months after- 
wards, the friends and relations of Gisippus came to see 
him, and, along with Titus, began to comfort and persuade 
him to take a wife, recommending a citizen of theirs, a 
lady of extraordinary beauty and family, about. sixteen 
years of age. The time of their marriage drawing near, 
Gisippus prevailed upon Titus, who had not yet seen her, 
to go with him to pay her a visit. Coming then to the 
house, and she seating herself between them, ‘Titus, con- 
sidering the charms of his friend’s contracted spouse, began 
to view her with the. greater attention; and being im- 
moderately taken with every part and every feature of her, 
and praising them secretly to himself, he soon grew as 
much, enamoured as,ever man in the world was with a 
woman, without, however, showing the least sign of. it. 
After they had stayed some time, they left. her, and 
returned home; and Titus, going into his) chamber by 
himself, began to reflect upon what he had seen, and the 
more he thought, the more he grew in love. . Recollecting 
himself at last, after many passionate sighs, he broke out to 
this effect: ‘‘Ah! unhappy Titus, where and on whom 
hast thou fixed thy heart, thy affection, and. thy whole 
hope?. Knowest thou not, that for the favours received 
from Chremes and his family, as well as the close friend- 


TENTH DAY 515 


ship betwixt thee and Gisippus, to whom she is espoused, 
thou oughtest to reverence her as a sister? Whom, then, 
dost thou love? Why suffer thyself to be thus ensnared ? 
To what purpose that deceitful hope? Open the eyes of 
thy understanding, O miserable man! and know thyself. 
Give way to reason, curb thy inordinate appetite, moderate 
thy irregular desires, and direct them to a different object ; 
subdue thy lascivious passion in the beginning, and be thy 
own master whilst it is in thy power. It is not convenient 
what thou desirest: it is not honest. What thou art in 
pursuit of, even wert thou sure to obtain it, as thou art not, 
thou oughtest to flee from, if thou hast any regard to what 
true friendship and thy own duty both require. What, 
then, wilt thou do? To act reasonably, thou must quit 
this love.” 

Then calling to mind the lady, and renouncing what he 
had before alleged, he said, ‘‘The laws of love are of 
greater force than any other; they disannul those of friend- 
ship, or even the laws divine. How often has a father 
loved his daughter, a brother his sister? which are much 
stranger things than one friend to love another friend’s wife. 
Besides, I am young, and youth is wholly subject to the 
government of love. What that directs, then, I approve. 
Let people of more years think of what is honest: I can 
will nothing but to love. This her beauty commands from 
every one. How am I then to blame? I love her, not 
because she is espoused to my friend, but I should. love 
her to whomsoever she belonged. It is only fortune that is 
in fault, in having bestowed her upon him; and perhaps he 
may be less uneasy at my admiring her, than he would be 
with any other person.” . 

Thus he kept reasoning with himself backwards and 
forwards, not that day and night only, but many others, 
insomuch that he neither ate nor slept, till at last he was 
forced to. keep his bed. Gisippus had observed him pen- 
sive for some time, and now seeing him fall sick, was 
extremely grieved, and sought, by all manner of means, to 
comfort him, pressing earnestly to know the cause of his 
grief. When he returned frivolous answers, far from truth, 
which Gisippus knew to be such; and as he was still urgent 


516 THE DECAMERON 


to know the real cause, Titus, compelled, as it were, at 
length to speak, began with sighs and tears to this effect : 

“© Gisippus! if it had pleased the gods, death would 
have been much more welcome to me than to live any 
longer, now I come to reflect that fortune has brought me 
into a strait, in which trial is to be made of my virtue, and 
I perceive that it is vanquished to my eternal reproach. 
But I expect ere long the proper reward, namely, death ; 
which will be much more dear to me than to live with the 
consciousness of my own baseness; which, as I neither 
can nor ought to conceal anything from you, I now dis- 
close with shame.” 

Here he related from the beginning the whole cause of 
his uneasiness and conflict within himself; as also which 
way the victory inclined; owning his extreme passion for 
Sophronia, and declaring, on account of the dishonourable- 
ness of it, his resolution to die, which he hoped would 
shortly come to pass. Gisippus, hearing this discourse, 
and seeing his affliction, stood some time in suspense, 
having a love for the lady, though in’a more moderate 
degree ; but at length his friend’s life was preferred, and, 
sympathising with him, he wept,'and said, “Titus, were it 
not that you stand more in need of comfort, I should 
upbraid you for a breach of friendship, in keeping your 
passion so long a secret. Admitting it to’ be dishonourable, 
yet ought it no more to be concealed than if it were other- 
wise; for if it be the part of a friend to rejoice at what 
redounds to his friend’s credit, it is no less so to attempt to 
drive from that friend’s heart what he judges contrary to it. 
But to leave this subject, and come to that of which you 
stand most in need. ‘That you are so passionately in love 
with Sophronia, who is affanced to me, I am not at all sur- 
prised, but should wonder rather if it were otherwise, con- 
sidering her extraordinary beauty, and the generosity of 
your soul, so much the more susceptible of love, in pro- 
portion to the excellency of the object. The more reason, 
then, there is for your loving Sophronia, the more unjustly 
do you complain of fortune in having bestowed her upon 
me, supposing your love would have been more reputable 
had she belonged to any other person. But you should 


TENTH DAY 517 


rather be pleased that fortune has made her mine; for an 
indifferent person would have given the preference to 
himself, which you can never suppose in me, if you hold 
me as much your friend as I really am. And my reason 
is this; I do not remember, since the commencement of 
our friendship, that I ever possessed anything but it was 
as much yours as my own; andif it was so in every other 
case, it shall be the same inthis. It is true she is my 
spouse, and I have loved her most affectionately, waiting 
with impatience the consummation of our nuptials: but, as 
your desire and passion for her are the stronger, be assured 
that she shall be conducted into my chamber, not as my 
wife, but yours. Then leave these despairing thoughts, shake 
off that cloudy disposition, reassume your former health 
and cheerful temper, and from this hour expect the reward 
and completion of your love, far more deserving of the 
lady than mine.” 

As much pleasure as Titus’s hopes afforded him, with so 
much shame was he overwhelmed from this consideration, 
that the greater his friend’s liberality, the greater disgrace it 
would be to accept it. Therefore, unable to refrain from 
tears, he thus feebly replied: ‘‘Gisippus, your sincere and 
generous friendship points out to me what on my part 
ought to be done. Heaven forbid that I should take her 
for mine, who was more deservedly destined to be yours: 
had the gods thought her a fit wife for me, they would have 
ordered it to have been so. Accept thankfully, then, thy 
own choice and her gift, and leave me to waste away in 
tears as unworthy of such a blessing ;, for either I shall get 
the better of this passion, and so continue your friend, or 
else it will get the better of me, and I shall then be out of 
my misery.” Gisippus replied, ‘‘My dear friend, if our 
intimacy might permit me to force you in any respect to 
comply with my will, it is in this case that I would make 
use of such influence; if, then, you refuse to condescend 
to my entreaties, I shall, with that compulsion which is 
necessary for my friend’s welfare, take care that Sophronia 
be wholly yours. I know full well the force of love, and 
that many of its votaries have been brought by it to an 
unhappy end; I see you also in such danger, that you 


518 THE DECAMERON 


would unavoidably sink under the burden; nor should J 
be long behind you. Therefore, were there no other reason, 
yet for my own sake would your life be dear to me. You, 
then, shall be possessed of her because you will never meet 
with any so agreeable to yourself: but for my part I may 
fancy some other as well. There is no such generosity in 
this; women are easier found than friends; another wife I 
can easily procure, but such a friend, perhaps, never. I 
can better transfer my affection to another, than think of 
losing you. Rouse yourself, then, I entreat you, if you have 
any regard for me, from this affliction. Comfort at once 
both yourself and me, and prepare to receive the joy which 
your most passionate love so eagerly thirsts after.” 
Although Titus was ashamed to give his consent, yet 
love, and his friend’s importunities, at length prevailed, and 
he replied, ‘‘ Gisippus, in doing what you entreat, and say 
is so much your desire, I know not whether I may be sup- 
posed principally to consult your pleasure or my own. As, 
therefore, your liberality is such that it surmounts all shame 
in me, I will do as you command. But remember, it is not 
being gratified in my love only, however great that may be; 
but it is receiving my life also at your hands, for which I 
must own myself your debtor. And may the gods grant 
that I may be able, some time or other, to show how much 
I think myself obliged, in your manifesting a greater regard 
for me than I had for myself!” After this was over, 
Gisippus said to him, ‘‘ Titus, in order that we succeed in 
this affair, I hold it best to take this method: you know 
everything is concluded between her friends and mine, and 
were I now to declare my refusal of her, it would be a 
matter of great reproach, and I should for ever disoblige 
both her relations and mine, though the latter I should not 
so much regard, could I be assured you would obtain her 
by that means: but I am afraid, in such case, lest they 
should bestow her upon some other person, and so you 
lose what I gain not. If you think well of it, then I intend 
to proceed in the affair, and bring her home as’ my own 
spouse, when you shall privately be put to bed to her, as if 
she was your wife, and at a proper time the thing shall be 
made public; if they approve of it, it will be well; if 


TENTH DAY 519 


otherwise, it will be done, and cannot then be undone, for 
which reason they must be satisfied.” \Titus liked this 
stratagem, and as soon as he was perfectly recovered, 
Gisippus brought her home with great rejoicings, when the 
women put her into his bed, and departed. Now Titus’s 
chamber adjoined to Gisippus’s, so that a person might 
go out of one into the other ; Gisippus, therefore, having 
put out the candles, went silently to Titus, and told him 
that he might now go to bed to his lady. Upon which 
Titus’ was sO overcome with shame, that’ he began: t¢ 
repent, and refused it. But Gisippus, who was as much 
his friend’ as he had always professed himself, after a 
long contest, sent him to her.. When being gotten into 
bed, he softly asked if she was willing to be his wife. 
She, thinking it was Gisippus, replied, “Yes.” Then 
taking a ring of value, and putting it upon her finger, 
he said, “And I will be your husband.” Thus every- 
thing was consummated, she thinking all the time that 
she had been with Gisippus. By this time Publius, the 
father of Titus, departed this life, when letters came to 
Titus, requiring him instantly to depart for Rome upon 
his private affairs; which he instantly resolved upon, 
designing also to take with him Sophronia and Gisippus ; 
but not seeing how this could be well managed, without 
his first making a full discovery of what had been done, 
he therefore one day called her into the chamber, and 
told her the whole affair, which he made clear to her 
by many remarkable circumstances. Upon which she 
gazed first at one, and then the other, with a good deal 
of confusion, and at length burst out» into tears, com- 
plaining bitterly of Gisippus’s trick upon her; but before 
she madé any stir about it in the house, she went 
directly to her father’s, and declared to him and her 
mother the whole treachery, affirming that she was not 
the wife of Gisippus, as they imagined, but of Titus. 
This was a most grievous thing both to them and all 
her relations, who complained heavily of Gisippus, and 
there was much disturbance and confusion about it. Great 
was the resentment of his own relations, as well as hers, 
and all declared him worthy not of reproof’ only, but severe 


520 THE DECAMERON 


chastisement. But he, notwithstanding, justified what he 
had done, averring that thanks were rather due to him from 
her friends, inasmuch as he had married her to one better 
than himself. Titus, on the other part, beheld all this with 
great concern, and knowing it to be the temper of the Greeks 
to make a mighty noise and stir when no opposition is made, 
but where there is any resistance, then to be tame and 
submissive, he resolved to bear their reproaches no longer 
without a reply; and having an Attic genius, with a true 
Roman spirit, he had all Gisippus’s and Sophronia’s friends 
summoned together into a temple; and coming thither, 
accompanied only by Gisippus, he addressed himself to the 
expecting multitude in the following manner :— 

“It is the opinion of many philosophers that we mortals 
do nothing but what is preordained by the immortal gods, 
from whence some conclude that our actions are determined 
by a fatal necessity, though others refer that necessity to 
things already past. Whoever has regard to either of these 
tenets, must allow, that to find fault with what cannot be 
revoked, is, in other terms, to quarrel with Providence, 
whom we should believe to govern by perpetual laws, not 
subject to error, both us and all our affairs; and yet you 
yourselves are the people that presume to do this, if it be 
true what | hear, that you are continually exclaiming against 
my marriage with Sophronia, whom you had given to Gisip- 
pus, never considering that it was decreed from the be- 
ginning that she should not be his wife, but mine, as the 
effect now proves. However, as discoursing upon the 
secrets of Providence is too knotty and intricate a subject 
for most people to comprehend, I am willing to suppose 
that no regard is had to what is done here below, and shall 
confine myself altogether to the dictates of human reason. 
Speaking, therefore, in that manner, I.am forced to do two 
things contrary to my natural temper: to commend myself, 
and to blame or lessen other people. But as I shall keep 
strictly to the truth in both respects, and the nature of the 
case requires me to do both, I therefore proceed. . Your 
complaints arise more from rage than reason; you are con- 
tinually reviling Gisippus, because he generously parted 
with a lady whom. you designed to be his wife. This 


TENTH DAY 521 


action, nevertheless, deserves the highest commendation, 
and that for two reasons. First, because he has thereby 
performed a most noble act of friendship; and, secondly, 
he has acted more wisely than yourselves would have done. 
How far the sacred bonds of friendship oblige one friend 
to go for another, I shall not at present examine, but con- 
tent myself barely with reminding you, that they are much 
stronger than the ties of blood. Our friends are our own 
choice, but our relations we receive from the hands of 
fortune. If, therefore, Gisippus, who is my friend, valued 
my life beyond your favour, you need not be surprised. 
But, secondly, I will show, by divers instances, seeing that 
you know little of Providence, and much less of the effects 
of friendship, that he has proved himself wiser than you all. 
You gave Sophronia to him, being a young gentleman and 
a philosopher ; he bestowed ‘her on a young gentleman and 
a philosopher also. You gave her to an Athenian ; he con- 
ferred her upon a Roman. You gave her to one of a good 
family; he to a person of a better. You to one that was 
rich ; he to another much richer. You to one who but little 
esteemed and scarcely knew her; he to one that loved her 
as his own life.’ Consider, then, what I have said, article 
by article. We are of equal years, and our studies have 
been the same; he, indeed, is an Athenian, and I a Roman, 
but no one can pretend to put those two cities in competi- 
tion. Rome is an independent, free city ; Athens, a tribu- 
tary one. Rome is mistress of the whole world; whilst 
Athens is under her subjection. Rome is justly famed for 
arms, extent of empire, and all sorts of polite learning ; 
whilst Athens is only remarkable for a little philosophy. 
And though you see me here a scholar, and of no great 
account, yet I am not descended from the dregs of the 
people. My houses and the public places are filled with 
the statues of my ancestors, and our annals record the 
numiberless triumphs of the Quintii brought home by them 
into the Roman Capitol. Nor has time itself tarnished our 
glory, but the lustre of our house continues the same as 
ever. I say nothing of my wealth, out of mere shamie, re- 
membering that a virtuous poverty was the noblest patri- 
mony of the ancient Romans: but if you be of a different 
R 2 


522 THE DECAMERON 


opinion, and think with the ignorant multitude there is any 
real excellence in riches, I can then tell you that I am 
abundantly provided, not from my own covetous desires, 
but the gift of fortune.. I know very well that you. desired 
his alliance, as he is of your own city: but why should not 
I be as’ much esteemed by you at Rome, considering that 
you will then have a faithful friend and advocate in all your 
affairs, both public and private? Upon all these-accounts 
I must conclude that Gisippus has judged more wisely than 
yourselves... Sophronia is married to a noble and wealthy 
citizen of Rome, one of an ancient family, and a friend of 
Gisippus ; therefore, whoever makes|,any,complaint or stir 
about it, neither does as he ought, nor yet knows what he 
does. But some, perhaps, may say, ‘We do not.so much 
blame the thing, as, the manner in which it was done, she 
being made his. wife, as it were, by, stealth.’ Why, this is 
no such strange matter! How many examples are there of 
this kind in the world? Do not daughters marry without 
their parents’ consent? Some go into foreign. countries 
with their gallants, and others never discover their marriages 
at all, till their appearance.or lying-in does it for them. 
Now there is nothing like this in Sophronia’s case; she was 
decently and honourably disposed of by Gisippus to me. 
Others may allege that: she was married to, a:person for 
whom she was never designed; but those complaints are 
now very foolish, and to no purpose. . Fortune makes use 
of strange methods sometimes to bring things to- pass 
What is it to me, whether it be a cobbler or a philosopher 
that does any business of mine, or whether it be in public 
or private, provided the end be good? Indeed, if I find 
the cobbler indiscreet in his management, he shall have no 
more to do for me, but. still I am obliged to thank him 
when he does me any real service. Gisippus has married 
Sophronia well; then to what purpose is it how he did it? 
If you question his prudence, let him have no more of your 
daughters to dispose of; but. still thank him for providing 
so well for this. I never meant to throw a Stain upon your 
family, in the person of Sophronia; and though I married 
her in that manner, I neither came as a ravisher, nor one 
refusing your alliance; I was charmed with her beauty and 


TENTH DAY 523 


virtue; and fearing if I proceeded in the usual way, that 
you would never give your consent, on account of my taking 
her away to Rome, I therefore had recourse to this artifice, 
and made Gisippus espouse her for me. Moreover, though 
I loved her most immoderately, yet, to show that my designs 
were strictly honourable, I first espoused her with my own 
ring, as she can bear me witness, asking her whether she 
was willing to take me for her husband, when she made 
answer that she was; if she was deceived, she herself is to 
blame for not asking me who I was. © This, then, is the 
mighty crime committed by him asa friend, and me asa 
lover: for this you lay snares for, and threaten his life. 
What could you do more, had he given her to the -veriest 
scoundrel in the universe? But letting this alone for the 
present, the time is now come, on account of my father’s 
unexpected death, for my returning to Rome; and, intend- 
ing to take Sophronia along with me, I have thought it 
proper to declare what might otherwise have been kept 
secret ; if you be wise, you will take it in good. part, for 
were I capable of such an action, I might basely have left 
her. But Heaven forbid that such a thought should ever 
enter the breast of a Roman! Sophronia, therefore, is 
mine, by the will of Heaven; the laws of men, the gen- 
erosity of my friend, and the innocent artifice wherewith 
love inspired me: whilst you, thinking yourselves wiser 
than other people, or even the gods themselves, contest 
this my title two ways, both very injurious to me: first, by 
detaining Sophronia, over whom you have no more power 
than what I please to give you; and, secondly, by your 
ill treatment of my friend, to whom yourselves are greatly 
obliged. How indiscreet you are in both cases I shall not 
say at present, but only advise you amicably to give up 
your resentment, and deliver Sophronia to me, that I may de- 
part your friend, and continue so ; assuring you, whether you 
be. pleased or otherwise with what is done, that, if you offer 
to proceed in a different manner, I will then take Gisippus 
along with me; and when I come to Rome, fetch her, who 
is mine by right, in spite of you all, from amongst you, 
making you sensible, at the same time, what it-is to incur 
the just displeasure of the Romans.” ) 


$24 THE DECAMERON 


After Titus had done speaking, he took Gisippus by the 
hand, and went out with him, knitting his brows, and show- 
ing all the marks of passion at those within the temple; 
whilst they, moved partly with the reasons he had given, 
and partly terrified with his last words, thought it better to 
adinit him as a relation, since Gisippus had refused it, than 
to lose the alliance of one, and procure the enmity of the 
other. So they went with one accord, and told him that 
they consented he should have Sophronia, and should 
esteem him as their kinsman, and Gisippus as their friend. 
Thus they made a solemn agreement together, and departed, 
delivering Sophronia up to him; who, being wise enough to 
make a virtue of necessity, the love which she had borne 
to Gisippus she immediately transferred to Titus, and went 
with him to Rome, where she was received with: great 
honour and respect. 

Gisippus continued at Athens in ‘little esteem with the 
people; and powerful parties were formed against him, 
insomuch that he was at length driven from the place, and 
doomed, with all his family, to perpetual banishment. Being 
thus destitute of all friends, and no better than a common 
beggar, he travelled, as well as he could, for Rome, to see 
if Titus would take any notice of him. When, finding that 
he was alive, and in great favour with the people, he in- 
quired for his house, and went thither, waiting till he should 
come past. 

Not daring to speak’a word, on account of his poverty, he 
yet put himself in his way, in hopes that he would recollect 
and challenge him ; but he passed by, and Gisippus imagin- 
ing that he had seen and despised him, and calling to mind 
what he had formerly done for him, he went away confounded 
with grief and despair. It was now night, and he had been 
fasting all that day, and being without a penny of money 
in his pocket, and desiring nothing so much’ as to die, he 
rambled, without knowing whither, till he came toa solitary 
part of the city, where he found a great cavern, and went 
into it, with a design of staying all night, when, laying him- 
self down, almost naked, upon the hard ground, he wept 
himself asleep. To this place two thieves, who had been 
robbing ali night, came with their booty towards break of 


TENTH DAY 525 


day, and, quarrelling together about it, one killed the other, 
and departed. This Gisippus perceiving, and thinking he 
had now found a way to die, without laying hands upon 
himself, he stayed there till the officers, who had notice of 
the murder, came and hurried him violently away. Upon 
examination, he confessed that he had committed the fact, 
and had not the power afterwards to stir from the place. 

On this, Marcus Varro, who was the pretor, gave sentence 
that he should be crucified; as was the usual manner of 
death in those cases. Now it happened, by great chance, 
that Titus came into the hall at the very time, and looking 
attentively in the prisoner’s face, and hearing the cause of 
his condemnation, he instantly knew him to be Gisippus. 
He wondered, therefore, greatly at this change of fortune, 
and what could bring him thither; and was determined, at 
all events, to save him; but seeing no other way but by 
accusing himself, he stepped resolutely forwards, and called 
aloud to the pretor in this manner: ‘‘ Marcus Varro, recall 
thy sentence; for the person whom thou hast condemned 
is innocent: it was I who offended the gods, by the murder 
of that man whom the officers found slain this morning: 
then do not offend them still more by the murder of another 
innocent person.” Varro was quite astonished, and grieved 
to that degree, that the whole hall heard him; but not 
being able, with regard to his own honour, to alter the 
course of the laws, he ordered Gisippus to come back, 
when he said, in the presence of Titus, ‘‘ How couldst thou 
be so foolish to confess, without any torture, a crime whereof 
thou art no way guilty, and which would affect thy life? 
Thou saidst that thou wert the person that slew the man, 
and now here is another come, who says it was not thou, 
but he, that did it.” 

Gisippus lifted up his eyes, and saw that it was Titus, 
when, concluding that this was done out of a grateful re- 
membrance of the favours he had received, he fell into 
tears, and said, ‘‘ Indeed, sir, I did murder him, and Titus’s 
regard for my safety comes now too late.” Titus, on the 
other part, said, ‘‘ Marcus Varro, take notice, this man is a 
stranger, and was found, without any arms, by the man’s 
side that was murdered; it is only his poverty that makes 


526 THE DECAMERON 


him desirous of dying ; then set him at liberty, and punish 
me, who have deserved it.” Varro was greatly astonished 
at the pressing instances of both, presuming that neither 
one nor the other was guilty; and as he was thinking of a 
method how they might both be acquitted, behold, a young 
fellow, named Publius Ambustus, one of a notorious char- 
acter, and who had actually done the thing, had the humanity, 
seeing each accuse himself, to come before the preetor, and 
say, “‘Sir, the Fates have forced me hither, to solve this 
difficulty.. Some god or power within me spurs me on to 
make a confession of my own guilt. Know, therefore, that 
neither of these people was any way accessory, who are 
impeaching themselves: I murdered the man early this 
morning, and this poor wretch was there asleep, whilst I 
and the man who is killed were dividing our spoil. As for 
Titus, there is no occasion for my vindicating him; his 
character is without reproach. Set them both, then, at 
liberty, and let me suffer what the laws require.” 

This affair was soon told to Octavius Cesar, who, being 
desirous of knowing why they wanted so much to suffer, had 
all three brought before him, when each related fully how 
the thing really was: Upon which he set the two friends at 
liberty, because they were innocent, and pardoned the third 
also for their sakes. ‘Titus then took his friend Gisippus, 
and, after reproving him for his distrust and cool credence 
of his friendship, brought him to his own house, when 
Sophronia received him with the same affection as if he 
had been her brother; and giving him clothes suitable to 
his worth and quality, he afterwards divided his whole sub- 
stance with him, and bestowed a sister of his, named Fulvia, 
an agreeable young lady, upon him in marriage; saying 
further to him, “Gisippus, you have your free choice, 
whether to stay with me, or to go, ‘with what I have given 
you, into Greece ;” but he, moved partly by his exile, and 
partly by his love and friendship for Titus, agreed to stay 
at Rome, where they all lived together in one house, he 
with his Fulvia, and Titus with his fair Sophronia, to their 
mutual satisfaction, every day adding something, if possible, 
to their felicity. A most sacred thing, therefore, is friend- 
ship; and worthy not only of singular reverence, but to be 


TENTH DAY 527 


celebrated with perpetual applause, as being the prudent 
mother of magnificence and honesty, the sister of gratitude 
and charity, and the enemy of hatred and avarice ; always 
ready, without being requested, to manifest that virtuous 
kindness to others which she would have showed to her- 
self ; whose divine effects are rarely now to be met with, to 
the great reproach of the sordidness of mankind, which has 
driven it in a long exile to the farthest corner of the earth. 
What degree of love, wealth, or affinity, could have wrought 
so effectually upon the heart of Gisippus, to make him feel 
the pangs of his friend, and give up to him his beloved 
spouse P What laws, what threats, or fears, could cause 
the youth and vigour of Gisippus to forsake his own bed, 
where a beautiful young lady lay expecting him, and betake 
himself to dark: and lonesome places? What greatness, 
what rewards, could make him heedless of disobliging all 
his own relations, as well as Sophronia’s, despising the 
unjust murmurs and insults of the people, to serve his 
friend?) What, I say, but this only? On the other part, 
what could prompt Titus, without deliberation, when he 
might have fairly pretended not to have seen him, to con- 
trive his own death, in order to save Gisippus? What made 
him so liberal in parting with half his substance to Gisippus, 
whom fortune had dispossessed of his own patrimony? 
What induced Titus, when he saw him poor and destitute, 
to give him his sister, but only this? ‘To what purpose, 
then, do men covet numbers of relations, brethren, and 
children, and procure, at a vast expense, great plenty of 
servants, when, for the least inconvenience that they may 
sustain, people are apt to forget their duty to parent, brother, 
or master? Whereas, in true friendship it is quite other- 
wise, that sacred obligation serves instead of all degrees of 
affinity. 


528 THE DECAMERON 


NOVEL LX 


Saladin, disguising himself like a merchant, ts generously entertained by 
Stgnor Torello; who, going upon an expedition to the Holy Land, 
allowed his wife a certain time to marryagain. Inthe meantime 
he is taken prisoner, and being employed to look after the hawks, 
ts known to the Soldan, who shows him great respect. Afterwards 
Torello falls sick, and is conveyed, by magic art, in one night, to 
Pavia, at the very time that his wife was to have been married: 
when he makes himself known to her, and returns with her home. 


PHILOMENA had now concluded. her story, and Titus’s 
gratitude was much applauded; when the king began in 
this manner :— | 

Most certainly, ladies, Philomena is in the right as to 
what she has said upon friendship; and it was with reason 
she complained, last of all, of its being in such little esteem 
with mankind: and, had we met here to correct or reprove 
the vices of the age, I could proceed in a loose harangue 
to the same purpose; but, as that is foreign to our design, 
I intend to relate, in a long but pleasant novel, one out of 
the many generous actions of Saladin; to the-end, that if, 
through our imperfections, we cannot attain the friendship 
of any one, we should yet make it a pleasure to oblige, in 
hopes that a reward may ensue some time or other. 

I say, therefore, that, in the reign of the Emperor 
Frederick the First, a general crusade was undertaken 
by all the Christian princes, for the recovery of the Holy 
Land; which design of theirs coming first to the ears of 
Saladin, a most renowned prince, then Soldan of Babylon, 
he resolved to go in person to see what preparations were 
making against him, in order to provide the better for his 
own defence. So, settling all his affairs in Egypt, and 
taking with him two of his most sage and principal nobles, 
and three servants only, he set forwards, in the habit of a 
merchant, as if he was going on a pilgrimage. After travel- 
ling over many Christian countries, and riding through 
Lombardy, in order to pass the mountains, it happened, 
towards the evening, that, between Pavia and Milan, he 
met with a gentleman, named Torello d’Istria, who was 


TENTH DAY —- 529 


going with his hawks, hounds, and servants, to a country: 
house that he had on the river Tesino. Torello, upon 
seeing them, supposed that they were strangers of some 
quility, and as such was desirous of showing them respect. 
Therefore, Saladin having asked one of the, servants how 
farit was to Pavia, and if they could get there in. time enough 
to be admitted, Torello would not let the servant reply, but 
anjwered. himself, ‘* Gentlemen, it is impossible for you to 
reich Pavia now before the gates are shut.” ‘Then,’ quoth 
Saadin, ‘‘ please to inform us, as we are strangers, where 
wé may meet with the best entertainment.” Torello re- 
pled, ‘‘ That I will do with all my heart; I was just going 
tosend one of my fellows to a place near Pavia, upon some 
paticular business ; he shall go with you, and bring you to 
a blace where you will be accommodated well enough.” So 
tating one of the most discreet of his men aside, and having 
tod him what he should do, he sent him along with them, 
wiilst he made the best of his way to his own house, 
wiere he had as elegant a supper provided for them as 
cald be supposed for the time, and the tables all spread in 
tl: garden; which when he had done he went to the door 
tc wait for his guests. The servant rode chatting along 
wih them, leading them by other roundabout ways, till at 
lat, without their perceiving it, he brought them to his 
mster’s house. As soon as Torello saw them, he advanced 
piasantly, saying, “‘ Gentlemen, you are heartily welcome.” 
Sladin, who was a very shrewd person, perceived that the 
kight was doubtful whether they would have accepted. his 
ivitation, had he asked them to go with him home, and 
tht he had contrived this stratagem not to be denied the 
prasure of entertaining them. So he returned his compli- 
rent, and said, “If it was possible for one person to com- 
fain of another's courtesy, we should have cause to blame 
yurs, which, not to mention the hindrance of our journey, 
cmpelled us, without deserving your notice otherwise than 
t a casual salutation, to accept of such great favours as 

se.” Torello, being both wise and eloquent, replied, 

entlemen, it is poor respect you receive from me, com- 
red to what you deserve, so far as I can judge by your 
cantenances 5 but in truth there was no convenient place 


| 
| 
| 


| 


530 THE DECAMERON 


out of Pavia that you could possibly he at; then pray take 
it not amiss that you have stepped a little out of your way, 
to be something less incommoded.” 

Having said this, the servants were all at hand to ‘ake 
their horses, when they alighted, and were shown into rooms 
prepared for them; where they had their boots pulled off, 
and were refreshed with a glass of wine ; falling into agée- 
able discourse together afterwards till supper-time. ' 

Now Saladin and his people all spoke Latin extrenely 
well, so that they were easily understood by each other, ind 
Torello seemed, in their judgment, to be the most gracicus, 
accomplished gentleman, and one that talked the best of 
any they had ever met with. On the other part, Torllo 
judged them to be people of great rank and ‘figure, ind 
much beyond what he at first apprehended; for whch 
reason he was extremely concerned that he could not tlen 
have an entertainment and guests suitable. But for thishe 
resolved to make’ amends the following day; and havng 
instructed one of his servants what he would have done,he 
sent him to Pavia, which was near at hand, and by a ray 
where no gate was locked, to his wife, who was a ladyof 
great sense and magnanimity. 

Afterwards, taking his guests into the garden, he coute- 
ously demanded of them who they were. Saladin replid, 
‘‘We are merchants from Cyprus, and are going upon ur 
affairs to Paris.” ‘* Would to Heaven, then,” ’said Tordo, 
“that our country produced such gentry as I] see Cypus 
does merchants!” So they fell from one discourseto 
another till the hour for supping, when they seated thm- 
selves just as they pleased, and a supper, entirely unexpectd, 
was served up with great elegance and order. In sme 
little time, after the tables were removed, Torello, sp- 
posing they might be weary, had them conducted to thir 
chambers, where most sumptuous beds were prepared 9r 
them, and he in like manner went to take his rest. 

The servant that was sent te Pavia delivered his messze 
to the lady ; who, not with a feminine disposition, but a sul 
truly loyal, got together great numbers of the friends ad 
servants of Torello, and had everything provided to mie 
a feast indeed, sending through the city by torchlighto 


TENTH DAY 531 


mvite most of the nobility, and setting forth all the rooms 
with rich furniture of cloth of gold, fine tapestry, velvets, 
&c., according to his directions. 

In the morning the gentlemen arose, and mounted their 
horses along with Torello, who ordered out his hawks, and 
carried them to a neighbouring lake, where he showed two 
or three fair flights. But Saladin requesting somebody to 
direct him to the best inn in Pavia, Torello said, ‘‘ That I 
will do, because I have business there.” So they were 
satisfied, and rode on along with him, arriving there about 
the third hour of the day. And whilst they supposed that 
he would carry them to the best inn, he brought them 
directly to his own house, where were about fifty of the 
principal persons of the city ready to receive them. Saladin 
and his friends perceiving this, readily guessed how the 
matter was, and they said, “‘Sir, this is not what we desired ; 
you did enough for us last night, and more than we could 
have wished; you might now, therefore, very well let us 
pursue our journey.” He made answer, ‘‘ Gentlemen, last 
night I was obliged to fortune, which surprised you upon 
the road in such manner that you were necessitated to take 
up with my little mansion ; but now I shall be indebted to 
you, and these noble persons all around equally with me, 
if, out of your great courtesy, you will not refuse the favour 
of dining with me.” Thus they were prevailed upon, and 
they alighted from their horses, when they were welcomed 
by the company with great joy and respect, and conducted 
into several apartments most richly set out for their recep- 
tion, where, laying aside their riding dresses, and taking 
some refreshment, they then made their appearance in the 
grand hall. After washing their hands they sat down all in 
order, when such a prodigious entertainment was served up, 
that if the emperor himself had been present, he could not 
have been more sumptuously regaled. Even Saladin and 
his friends, who were people of figure, and accustomed to 
everything of grandeur, could not help being astonished, 
having regard to the rank of the person, whom they knew 
to be only a private gentleman. 

When dinner was over, and they had discoursed a little 
together, the Pavian gentry, the weather being extremely 


) 532 THE DECAMERON 
ae 


hot, all withdrew to repose themselves; and Torello, being 


_ left with his three guests, showed them into a drawing-room, 
_ where, that nothing which he valued might be left unseen 
_ by them, he sent for his lady. She, therefore, being a person 
of. extraordinary beauty, and most sumptuously attired, 


was speedily introduced between her two little sons, who 


seemed like angels, when she very modestly and genteelly 


saluted them. At her coming, they arose, and received 
her with great deference and respect, seating her down by 


them, and taking great notice of the children. In a little 


time, after some discourse together, and Torello was gone 


out of the room, she, in a modest and graceful manner, 
began to inquire of them whence they came, and whither 
they were going. To which they returned the same answer 
they had doneto Torello. ‘‘ Then,” said she, very pleasantly, 


“TT see, gentlemen, that my poor design may be acceptable. 
I beg, then, as a particular favour, that you will not think 
lightly of a very small present which I mean to offer you; 
but, considering that women give little things, according to 
their slender abilities, that you would accept it, more out 
of respect to the good intention of the. donor, than the real 
value of the present.” So she ordered two robes to be 
brought for each, the one lined with taffeta, and the other 
with fur, not so much becoming a citizen or a merchant as 
a great lord; and three doublets of sarsenet, with the same 
of linen, saying, ‘Gentlemen, pray accept of these things: 
‘Iclothe you as I do my husband; and, for the rest, con- 
sidering that you are a great way from your wives, that you 


_have come a long journey, and have far yet to go, they may 


be of service, though of small value; especially as you 
merchants love always to be genteel and neat.” They were 
‘greatly surprised, seeing plainly that Signor Torello would 
let, no part of his respect be wanting; doubting likewise, 


_ when they came to see the richness of the presents, whether 


they were not discovered. But at length.one of them said, 
_“ Madam, these are very great things, and such as we ought 
not to accept, unless you force them upon us; in which 
case we must comply.” Her husband now returned, when 
she took her leave, and went and made suitable presents to 
their servants.. Torello, with much entreaty, prevailed upon 


TENTH: DAY 533 


them to stay all that day: therefore, after taking a little 
sleep, they put on those robes, and took a ride with him 
round the city, and at their return were nobly entertained 
with a great deal of good company at supper. At due 
time they went to bed, and when they arose in the morning, 
instead ‘of their wearied steeds they found three strong, 
handsome, fresh ones, with new serviceable horses also 
for their servants; which, when Saladin saw, he turned 
to his friends, and said: ‘‘I vow to Heaven, a more com- 
plete, courteous, or a more understanding gentleman I 
never met with anywhere; and if the Christian kings be 
in degree like to him, the Soldan of Babylon would never 
be able to stand against one, much less so many as are 
now preparing to'invade us.” Knowing well that it would 
be in vain to refuse them, after returning all due thanks, 
he and his attendants got on horseback, whilst Torello, 
with a great number of his friends, went with them a 
considerable distance from the city: and, though Saladin 
was grieved to separate, such was the regard he had con- 
ceived for him, yet, being constrained to depart, he begged 
he would return. He, yet loth to leave them, replied, 
‘Gentlemen, I will do so, as it is your desire; but this I 
must tell you, I know not who you are, nor do I seek to 
be informed any further than you desire I should; but, be 
you who you will, you shall never make me believe that 
you are merchants, and so I commend you to Providence.” 
Saladin then took leave of all the company ; and to Torello 
he said, ‘Sir, we may chance to show you some of our 
merchandise, and so convince you; but, in the meantime, 
fare you well.” Thus Saladin departed, and his com- 
panions, with a firm resolution in case he lived, and the 
approaching war did not prevent it, to show no less respect 
and honour to Signor Torello than he had received from 
him: and talking much of him, his lady, and everything 
that he had said and done, he commended all to the 
greatest degree imaginable. At length, after he had 
travelled over the west, not without great labour and 
fatigue, he embarked on board a ship for Alexandria, and 
being fully informed as to every particular, he prepared for 
a vigorous defence. Signor Torello returned to Pavia, full 


534 THE DECAMERON 


of conjectures who these three people should be,-in which, 
however, he was far from the truth. But the time now 
drawing nigh for the march of the forces, and great 
‘preparations being made everywhere, Torello, notwith- 
standing the prayers and tears of his lady, resolved to go; 
and having everything in readiness, and being about to 
mount his horse, he said to her, whom he loved most 
affectionately, ‘‘My dear, you see I am going upon this 
expedition, as well for the glory of my body as the safety 
of my soul; I commend my honour and everything else to 
your care; and, as my departure is certain, but my return, 
by reason of a thousand accidents which may happen, 
uncertain, 1 request, therefore, this one favour, that, 
happen what will to me, if you have no certain account 
of my being alive, you would only wait a year, a month, 
and a day, without marrying again, reckoning from the day 
of my leaving you.” The lady, who wept exceedingly, 
thus replied, ‘‘ My dear husband, I know not how I shall 
be able to bear the grief in which you leave me involved 
for your going from me: but, if I should outlive it, and 
anything happen amiss to you, you may live and die 
assured that I shall live and die the wife of Torello, and 
of his memory.” He then said, ‘I make not the least 
doubt, but that what you promise will be performed, as far 
as lies,in your power; but you are young, beautiful, and 
well descended, and your, virtues so. universally known, 
that [ am afraid, should there be the least suspicion of my 
death, lest any great lords and noble personages should 
come, and demand you of your brethren and other 
relations, from whose most urgent solicitations you could 
never defend yourself, however you might be disposed, and 
so you be compelled to give way. It is then for this 
reason that I would tie you down to that time, and not 
a moment longer.” The lady said, “I will do all in my 
power with regard to my promise; but should I ever think 
of acting otherwise, yet your injunction I will steadily 
abide by. Heaven grant, however, that I see you long 
before that time!” Here she embraced him, shedding 
abundance of tears, and taking a ring from her finger, 
| ware it him, and said, ‘If I. should chance to die before 


TENTH DAY © 535 


your return, remember me always when you look upon 
this.” He received it, and bidding every one farewell, 
mounted his: horse and. rode away, with a handsome re- 
tinue, for Genoa, where they all embarked, and soon 
arrived at Acre, when they joined. the. Christian army, 
which was visited by a mortal pestilence, that. swept away 
a great part of the people; and the thin remains of it were; 
by the dexterity or good fortune of Saladin, taken prisoners 
almost to a man, and distributed into divers cities to be 
imprisoned; when it was Torello’s fortune to be sent to 
Alexandria; »where, being unknown, and fearing lest he 
should be discovered, he was driven by necessity to under- 
take the care of hawks, of which he was a great master. 
By that means he soon feil under the notice of Saladin, 
who set him at liberty, and .made.. him his falconer. 
Torello, who. went by no; other name than that of the 
Christian, and neither remembered. the soldan, nor the 
soldan him, had all his thoughts at Pavia, and was often 
contriving how to make his escape, though without success. 
But some ambassadors from Genoa being come thither, to 
treat with the soldan about the redemption of certain of 
their countrymen, as they were just upon)their departure, 
he resolved to write to his lady, to let. her know he was 
alive, and would make all possible haste home; praying 
her, therefore, to be in daily expectation of his coming ; 
and so he did. He earnestly entreated also one of the 
ambassadors, whom he knew, that he would take care 
those letters came to the hands of the abbot of San Pietro, 
who was his uncle. Whilst Torello remained in this con- 
dition, it happened one day, as Saladin was talking with 
him about his hawks, that: he chanced to laugh, when he 
made a certain motion with:his lips, which Saladin, when 
he was at his house m Pavia, had taken particular notice 
of. Upon which he recollected him, and looking stead- 
fastly at him, believed he was the same person. Now 
leaving his former discourse, he said, ‘‘Tell me, Christian, 
of what country in the west art thou ?”—‘ My lord,” 
replied he, ““I-am a Lombard, and born in a city called 
Pavia; but am a poor man, and of no account.” When 
Saladin heard that, he became assured of what he doubted 


536 THE DECAMERON 


before, saying joyfully to himself, ‘‘ Providence has now 
given me an opportunity of showing how acceptable his 
generosity was to me.” So, causing his wardrobe to be set 
open, he carried him thither, and said, “Take notice, 
Christian, if there is any one robe amongst these that thou 
hast seen before.” Torello soon cast his ‘eye upon that 
which his lady had given to Saladin, but not imagining it 
could be the same, he replied, ‘‘ My lord, I know not one; 
two there are, indeed, which are like what I have worn 
formerly, and which I gave to three merchants that were at 
my house.” Now Saladin could’contain no longer, but 
taking him: joyfully in his arms, he said, “ You are Signor 
Torello d’Istria, and I am one of the three merchants to 
whom your lady gave these robes: and: now the time is 
come for me to convince you what my merchandise is, as I 
said at my leaving you might possibly happen.” Torello, 
at hearing these words, was overwhelmed both with joy 
and shame; joy in having had such a guest, and shame 
to think how indifferently he had received him. When 
‘Saladin said, ‘‘ Torello, as Providence hath sent you hither, 
account yourself to be master, and not me.” So, after great 
expressions of joy, he clothed him in royal apparel, and 
having recommended him to all his principal barons, and 
spoken highly in his praise, he commanded them to show 
him the same respect and honour as they would himself, 
if they expected any favour at his hands; which accord- 
ingly they all observed, especially the two lords who had 
accompanied Saladin to his house. 

The great pitch of grandeur and glory to which Torello 
saw himself so suddenly advanced, had made him forgetful 
of his affairs in Lombardy, especially as he was in hopes 
that his letters had been conveyed safely to his uncle. 
Now there was amongst the Christians, on the day they 
were surprised by Saladin, a gentleman of small esteem, 
dead and buried, called Torello di Dignes; consequently, 
as Torello d’Istria was universally known through the 
whole army, on account of his nobility, whoever heard 
that Torello was dead concluded it was he of Istria, and 
not of Dignes: and they being all taken prisoners imme- 
diately upon it, prevented people being undeceived, so 


TENTH DAY 537 


that many Italians returned home with the news, and 
some were daring enough to affirm that they had seen 
him dead,’ and were present at his interment. This 
occasioned great grief both to his wife and relations, as 
also to every one that knew him. It would be tedious to 
show the lady’s trouble and affliction, who, after wearing 
out some months in mourning, and beginning now to bea 
little comforted, was much pressed by her brethren and 
relations, seeing she was courted by divers great lords of 
Lombardy, to marry again. She several times, with tears, 
withstood, their solicitations, till, being over-importuned, 
she consented at last, provided they would let her wait the 
time prescribed by Torello. 

Things proceeding thus at Pavia, and there wanting only 
eight days for her taking a second husband, it happened 
one day that Torello met with one of the people whom he 
had seen go on board with the Genoese ambassadors, 
and inquired of him what sort of a voyage they had, 
and when they arrived at Genoa. The other replied, 
‘Sir, they had a very bad one, as we understood at 
Crete, whither I was bound; for, as they came near 
to Sicily a strong north. wind arose, which drove them 
upon the sands of Barbary, so that every soul of them 
perished, and amongst the rest two of my brethren were 
lost.” Torello gave credit to this account, which indeed 
was very true, and calling to mind that the limited time was 
near expiring ; supposing likewise that no tidings had come 
to Pavia concerning him, he took it for granted that she 
would be married again, and laid it so much to heart that 
he began to loathe his victuals, and was brought to death’s 
door; which, when Saladin understood, who had a great 
affection for him, he came to visit him, and learning after 
great importunity the cause of his disorder, he reproved 
him for not acquainting him with it sooner, desiring him 
nevertheless to be easy, and promising that he should be 
at Pavia within the time, and he told him in what manner, 
Torello gave credit to these words, hearing it was possible, 
and had been often done, and he began to take heart, and 
to press Saladin about it; who, therefore, had recourse to 
a necromancer, whose skill he had made trial of, desiring 


538 THE DECAMERON 


he would convey Torello upon a bed to Pavia in one 
night’s time. . The necromancer promised it should be 
done, but said it would be convenient for him to be 
thrown into a sleep. This was concerted, whilst Saladin 
returned to Torello, and found him bent upon being at 
Pavia, if possible, within the time, otherwise wishing to 
di¢é; when he said to him, “Torello, if you have that 
prodigious value for your lady, and are-in such concern 
lest she should be given away to another, Heaven knows 
my heart, I can in no way blame you for it; because, of 
all the women I ever saw, her address and behaviour, 
setting beauty aside, whichis only a fading flower, are 
most to be commended and esteemed.’ I should have 
been glad, as fortune has sent you hither, that what 
time we have to live we might have reigned together in 
these our kingdoms. But as I am not likely to have this 
favour, and you seem resolved to go to Pavia in due time, 
or else to die, I could greatly have wished to have known 
it early enough, that I might have sent you home with that 
state and equipage which your virtue justly requires. But 
as this did not happen, and you are desirous of being 
instantly there, I will take care you shall be conveyed in 
‘the manner I related to you.” Torello then replied, “My 
lord, the effects, without words, have sufficiently made 
manifest your disposition towards me, and which, in that 
supreme degree, is far beyond my deserts; and what you 
say, living or dying, I shall most assuredly rely upon you. 
As that then, is my desire, I beg it may be done immedi- 
ately, for to-morrow is the last day of my being expected.” 
This Saladin promised, and resolving to send him away 
the following night, he had a most beautiful and rich bed 
put up in his grand hall, made of fine velvet and cloth of 
gold, according to their custom, over which was a most 
curious counterpoint, wrought in certain figures, with the 
largest pearls and other precious stones, supposed to be of 
an immense value, with two noble pillows, suitable to such 
a bed. When this was done, he ordered Torello to be 
clothed after Saracen manner, with the richest and most 
beautiful robes that were ever seen, and a large turban 
folded upon his head; and, it now growing late, he went 


TENTH DAY a 


with divers of his nobles to the chamber where Torello 
was; when, sitting down by him, he began to weep, and 
say, “ Torello, the hour is now at hand which must divide 
us; and, as I can neither attend you myself, nor cause you 
to be attended, through the nature of the journey you have 
to go, which will not admit of it, I must, therefore, take 
leave of you in your chamber, for which purpose I am now 
come hither. First, then, I commend you to God’s provi- 
dence, begging you, by the love and friendship existing 
between us, to be mindful of me always, and, if it be 
possible, before we finish our lives, that you would settle 
your affairs in Lombardy, and come once more at least 
to see me, in order to make some amends for the pleasure 
which your hasty departure now deprives me of: and, till 
this shall happen, do not think much to visit me by letters, 
asking whatever favours you please from me, being assured 
there is no person living whom I would so readily oblige 
as yourself.” Torello could not refrain from tears, and 
answered, as well as he could for weeping, in a few words, 
that it was impossible the favours he had received should 
ever be forgotten by him, and that, at a proper time, he 
would not fail to do what he desired. Saladin then 
embraced him, and saying, “God be with you!” departed 
out of the chamber, weeping: the nobles also took their 
leave, and went with Saladin into the great hall, where the 
bed was provided. But it now waxing late, and the necro- 
mancer desiring despatch, a physician came with a certain 
draught, and telling him that it was to fortify his spirits, he 
made him drink it off, when he was immediately cast into 
a profound sleep. He was then, by Saladin’s order, laid 
upon that magnificent bed, on which was set a most 
beautiful crown, of prodigious value, written upon in such 
a manner, as to show that it was designed by Saladin as 
a present to Torello’s lady. On his finger he put a ring, 
wherein was a carbuncle that appeared like a flaming 
torch, the value of which was not to be estimated. To 
his side was a sword girt with such ornaments, that the 
like was scarcely ever seen. About his neck was a kind 
of solitaire, not to be equalled for the value of the pearls. 
and other precious stones, with which it was embellished. 


1949 THE DECAMERON 
And lastly, on each side were two great basins of gold, full 


_of double ducats, with many strings of pearls, rings, girdles, 
and other things too tedious to mention, which were laid 
all round him. When this was done, he kissed Torello 
- once more, as he lay upon his bed, commanding the necro- 
mancer then to use all possible expedition. Instantly the 
bed, with Torello upon it, was carried away in presence of 
them all, leaving them in discourse about it, and set in the 
church of San Pietro di Pavia, according to his own request, 
where he was found by the sacrist, fast asleep, with all 
these jewels and other ornaments, in the morning when it 
rung to matins; who, coming into the church with a light 
in his hand, and seeing that rich bed, was frightened out of 
his wits, and ran out. When the abbot and monks saw 
him in this confusion, they were greatly surprised, and 
inquired the reason, which the monk told them. ‘‘ How!” 
quoth the abbot, ‘‘thou art no child or stranger here, to be 
so easily terrified; let us go and see this bugbear.” They 
then took more lights, and went altogether into the church, 
where they saw this wonderful rich bed, and the knight 
lying upon. it fast asleep. And as they stood gazing at 
a distance, and fearful of taking a nearer view, it happened, 
the virtue of the draught being gone, that Torello awoke, 
and fetched a deep sigh; at which the monks and abbot 
cried out, ‘Lord, have mercy upon us!” and away they 
ran. Torello now opened his eyes, and looking all around 
him, saw he was where he had desired Saladin to have him 
conveyed, at which he was extremely satisfied; so raising 
himself up, and beholding the treasure he had with him, 
whatever Saladin’s generosity seemed to him before, he 
now. thought it greater than ever, as having had more 
knowledge of it. Nevertheless, without stirring from the 
place, seeing the monks all run away in that manner, and 
_ Imagining the reason, he began to call the abbot by name, 
and to beg of him to entertain no doubts in the affair, for 
that he was Torello, his nephew. The abbot, at hearing 
this, was still more afraid, as he supposed him dead many 
months before: till being assured, by good and sufficient 
reasons, and hearing himself again called upon, he made 
the sign of the cross, and went to him. When Torello 


TENTH DAY 541 


said, “* Father, what are you in doubt about? I am alive, 
God be thanked, and now returned from beyond sea.” The 
abbot, notwithstanding he had a great beard, and was 
dressed after the Turkish fashion, soon remembered him ; 
and assuming some courage, he took him by the hand, and 
said, ‘Son, you are welcome home.” And he added, “ You 
need not be surprised at my fear, for there was nobody here 
but was fully persuaded of your death, insomuch that, I 
must tell you, your lady, Madam Adalieta, overpowered by 
the prayers and threats of her friends, is now married again, 
contrary to her own will, and this morning she is to go 
home to her new husband, and everything is prepared for 
solemnising the nuptials.” 

Torello. now arose and saluted the abbot and all the 
monks, begging of them to say nothing of his return, till 
he had despatched a certain affair. Afterwards, having 
carried all the jewels and wealth into a place of safety, 
he related all that had passed to the abbot, who was ex- 
tremely rejoiced. He then desired to know who that 
second husband was, and the abbot informed him; when 
he replied, ‘‘I should be glad before she knows of my 
return, to see how she relishes this wedding; therefore, 
though it be unusual for the clergy ‘to go to such enter- 
tainments, yet, for my sake, I wish you would contrive so 
that we may be both there.” The abbot answered, that 
he would with all his heart. When it was daylight, he 
sent to the bridegroom to let him know, that he and a 
friend would come together to his wedding. The bride- 
groom replied, that he’ should be obliged to them for the 
favour. And when dinner-time came, Torello, in the same 
habit in which he arrived, went along with the abbot to the 
bridegroom’s house, where he was wonderfully gazed at, 
though known by nobody; the abbot giving out that he 
was going as an ambassador from the soldan to the King 
of France. Torello then was seated at a table opposite to 
his wife, whom he beheld with great pleasure, and thought 
he saw uneasiness in her looks at these nuptials. She 
would likewise give a look sometimes towards him, not 
out of any remembrance she had of him, for that was quite 
taken away by his great beard, strange dress, and her full 


542 THE DECAMERON 


persuasion that he was dead. At last, when he thought it 
a fit time to try if she would remember him, he took the 
ring in his hand which she had given him at his departure, 
and calling one of the young men that was in waiting, he 
said, “Tell the bride, from me, that it is a custom in 
our country, when any stranger as I may be, is at such 
an entertainment. as this, for the bride, in token of his 
being welcome, to send the cup in which she_ herself 
drinks, full of wine; when after the stranger has drunk 
what he pleases and covered the cup, the bride then 
pledges him with the rest.” The youth delivered the 
message to the lady, who, thinking him to be some great 
personage, to let him see his company was agreeable, 
ordered a large golden cup, which she had before her, 
to be washed and filled with wine, and to be carried 
to him. Torello, having put the ring into his mouth, 
contrived to let it fall into the cup, without any one’s 
perceiving it; and leaving but little wine therein, he 
covered it up and sent it to the lady, who received it; 
and, in compliance with the custom, uncovered and put 
it to her mouth, when she saw the ring; and, considering 
it a while, and knowing it to be the same she had given her 
husband, she took it, and: began to look attentively at the 
supposed stranger; when, calling him to mind, like a dis- 
tracted person, she threw all the tables down before her, 
crying out, “This is my lord! This is truly Torello!” 
Then running to the table where he was sitting, without 
having regard to anything that was on it, she cast that 
down likewise, and clasped her arms about him in sucha 
manner, as if she would never separate from him more. 
At last, the company being in some confusion, though for 
the. most part pleased with the return of so worthy a 
knight, Torello, after requesting silence, gave them a full 
account of what had befallen him to that hour; concluding, 
that he hoped the gentleman who had married his wife, 
supposing he was dead, would not be disobliged, seeing he 
was alive, that he took her back again. The bridegroom, 
though he was_not a little disappointed, replied freely, and 
as a friend, that no doubt he might do what he pleased 
with his own. She consequently gave up the ring and 


TENTH DAY 543 


crown, which she had received from her new husband, and 
put on that ring instead which she had taken out of the 
cup, and likewise the crown sent to her by Saladin; and, 
leaving the bridegroom’s house, she went home with all 
nuptial pomp along with Torello, whither his friends and 
relations, whom his loss rendered disconsolate, and all the 
citizens likewise, looking upon him as a miracle, went 
joyfully to see him, and pay him their respects. Part of 
the jewels Torello gave to him who had been at the expense 
of the marriage-feast, and part to the abbot, and to divers 
others; and having signified his happy arrival to Saladin, 
he remained from that time his friend and faithful servant, 
living many years afterwards with his most worthy spouse, 
and continuing more generous and hospitable than ever. 
This, then, was the end of both their afflictions, and the 
reward of their most cheerful and ready courtesy. Many 
there are that attempt the like, who, though they have the 
means, do it yet with such an ill grace, as turns rather to 
their discredit. If, therefore, no merit ensue from thence, 
neither they nor any one else ought to be surprised. 


NOVEL X 

The Marquis of Saluzzo having been prevailed upon by his subjects to 
marry, in order to please himself in the affair, made chotce of @ 
countryman’s daughter, by whom he had two children, which he 
pretended to put to death. Afterwards, seeming as though he wqs 
weary of her, and had taken another, he had his own daughter 
brought home, as tf he had espoused her, whilst his wife was sent 
away tn a most.dtstressed condition. At length, being convinced of 
her patience, he brought Rer home again, presented her children to 
her, who were now of considerable years, and ever afterwards loved 
and honoured her as his lady. 


Yue king’s long novel, being concluded, which had all the 
appearance of pleasing, Dioneus, as the only person left to 
speak, began in this manner :— | 

We seem, to-day, most gracious ladies, to have had only 
to do with kings, soldans, and such-like people: therefore, 
that I may not be left too far behind, I intend to speak of 


fr, 


ba THE DECAMERON 


a marquis; not with regard to anything noble and great, 
but rather monstrously vile and brutish, although it ended 
well at last; which, notwithstanding the event, I would yet 
advise nobody to imitate. 
It is a long time ago, that, amongst the marquises of 
_Saluzzo, the principal or head of the family was a youth, 
called Gualtieri, who, as he was a bachelor, spent his whole 
time in hawking and hunting, without any thought of ever 
being encumbered with a wife and children; in which 
respect, no doubt, he was very wise. But this being dis- 
agreeable to his subjects, they often pressed him to marry, 
to the end he might neither die without an heir, nor they 
be left without a lord; offering themselves to provide such 
a lady for him, and of such a family, that they should have 
great hopes from her, and he reason enough to be satisfied. 
“Worthy friends,” he replied, “you urge me to do a thing 
which I was fully resolved against, considering what a 
difficult matter it is to find a person of a suitable temper, 
with the great abundance everywhere of such as are other- 
wise, and how miserable also the man’s life must be who 
is tied to a disagreeable woman. As to your getting at a 
woman’s temper from her family, and so choosing one to 
please me, that seems quite a ridiculous fancy: for, besides 
\the uncertainty with regard to their true fathers, how many 
daughters do we see resembling neither father nor mother? 
Nevertheless, as you are: so fond of having me noosed, | 
will agree to be so. Therefore, that I may have nobody to 
blame but myself, should it happen amiss, I will make my 
Own choice; and I protest, let me marry whom I will, that, 
unless you show her the respect that is due to her as my 
lady, you shall know, to your cost, how grievous it is to me 
to have taken a wife at your request, contrary to my own 
inclination.” The honest men replied that they were well 
satisfied, provided he would but make the trial. Now he 
had taken a fancy, some time before, to the behaviour of a 
‘poor country girl, who lived in a village not far from his 
palace; and thinking that he might live comfortably enough 
with her, he determined, without seeking any farther, to 
marry her, Accordingly he sent for her father, who was a 
very poor man, and acquainted him with it. Afterwards 


TENTH DAY 545 


he summoned all his subjects together and said to them, 
" Gentlemen, it was and is your desire that I take a wife: 
I do it rather to please you, than out of any liking I have 
to matrimony. You know that you promised me to be 
satisfied, and to pay her due honour, whoever she is that I 
shall make choice of. The time is now come when [ shall 
fulfil my promise to you, and I expect you to do the like to 
me: I have found a young woman in the neighbourhood 
after my own heart, whom I intend to espouse, and bring 
home in a very few days. Let it be your care, then, to do 
honour to my nuptials, and to respect her as your sovereign 
lady ; so that I may be satisfied with the performance of 
your promise, even as you are with that of mine.” The 
people all declared themselves pleased, and promised to 
regard her in all things as their mistress. Afterwards they 
made préparations for a most noble feast, and the like did 
the prince; inviting all his relations, and the great lords in 
all parts and provinces about him: he had also most rich 
and costly robes made, shaped by a person that seemed to 
be of the same size with his intended spouse; and provided 
a girdle, ring, and fine coronet, with everything requisite 
fora bride. And when the day appointed was come, about 
the third hour he mounted his horse, attended by all his 
friends and vassals ; and having everything in readiness, he 
said, ‘*‘ My lords and gentlemen, it is now time to go for 
my new spouse.” Soon they rode to the eat and when 


reese 


with some of her acquaintance to see the new marchioness ; 
when he called her by name, which was Griselda, and 
inquired where her father was. She modestly replied, 
“ My gracious lord, he is in the house.” He then alighted 
from his horse, commanding them all to wait for him, and 
went alone into the cottage, where he found the father, who 
was called Giannucolo, and said to him, “ Honest man, 
I am come to espouse thy daughter ; but would first ask 
her _some questions before..thee.” He then inquired 
whether she would make it her study to please him, and 


not beat uneasy ‘at any time, wubgtever he should do or say; 
BMG ¥ + She WOUId alway: dient: with more ta 


546 THE DECAMERON 
that purpose. To which she answered esa AG then 
led her out by the hand, and made her strip before them 
all; and ordering'the rich apparel to be brought which he 
had provided, he had her clothed completely, and a coronet 
set upon her head, all disordered as her hair was; after 
which, every one being i in amaze, he said, “ Behold, this is 
the person whom I intend for my wife, provided she will 
accept of me for her husband.” Then, turning towards 
her, who stood quite abashed, “Will you,” said he, “have 
me for your husband?” She replied, “Yes, if so please 
your lordship. %__ Well,” he replied, “ and I take you. for 
my wife.” So he espoused her in that public manner, and 
mounting her.on.a palfrey, conducted her honourably to his 
palace, celebrating the nuptials with as much pomp and 
gtandeur as though he had been married to the daughter 
of the King of France; and the young bride showed ap- 
parently that with her earments she had changed both her 
mind and hea iones She hada most agreeable | person, and 
was So amiable, so good-natured. withal, that she seemed 
rather a lord’s daughter than that of a poor shepherd; at 
which’ every one that knew hér before was greatly surprised. 
She was, too, so obedient to her husband, and so obliging 
in all respects, that he thought himself the happiest 1 man 
in the world; and to her subjects likewise..so gracious 
and ‘condescending that they all honoured and loved her 
as their ‘own ‘lives ;’ praying for her health and prosperity ; ; 
and declaring, contrary to their former opinion, that 
Gualtieri was the most prudent and sharp-sighted prince 
in the whole world; for’ that no one could have’ dis- 
cerned such virtues "ander a mean habit and | ‘country 
disguise, but himself. In a very short time, her discreet 
behaviour and “good works were the common subject of 
discourse, not'i.1 that country only, but everywhere else ; 
and what had been objected to the prince, with regard 
to his marrying’ her, now took a contrary turn. They 
had not lived long together before she proved with child, 
and at length brought forth a daughter, for which he 
made great rejoicings, But soon afterwards a new. fancy 
came into his head; and that was, to make a “trial. of . 
her patierice by long and intolerable ‘sufferings: so “he 


and— 


tio 
Fy sees 


‘TENTH DAY. 547 


| pegan. with harsh words, and an appearance of great un 


easiness; telling her that his subjects were greatly dis- 

pleased with her for her mean parentage, ‘especially as 
they saw she bore children ; ; and that they did nothing 
but murmur at the daughter already born, Which, when 
she heard, without changing countenance. or her resolution 
in any respect, she replied, ‘‘My Tord, pray dispose of 
me as you think most, for your honour and happiness : 

I shall entirely acquiesce, knowing myself to be meaner 
than the meanest of the people, and that I was altogether 
unworthy_of. that dignity, to which. your favour was pleased 
to advance me,” This was/very agreeable to the prince, 
seeing that she was no. wa elevated with the honour he 
had conferred upon her. “Afterwards, having often told 


her, in, general terms, that. his subjects could not bear 


with the daughter that was born of her, he sent one of 
his servants, whom he had instructed what to do, who, 
with a very ‘sorrowful countenance, said.to her, ‘* Madam, 
I must either lose, my own life, or obey my lord’s com- 
mands: now he has ordered me to take | your ‘daughter, 
” without saying anything more. 

She, hearing these words, and noting the fellow’s looks, 
remembering also what she had heard before from. her 
lord, concluded. that he had orders to destroy the child. 
50 she took it out of the cradle, kissed it, and gave it 
her blessing ; when, without. changing countenance, though 


her heart throbbed with’ maternal affection, she tenderly 


laid it in the servant’s arms, and said, epee it, and do 
what thy lord and mine has commanded; but prithee 
leave it not to be devoured by the fowls or wild beasts, 
unless that be his will.” ‘Taking the child, he acquainted 
the prince with what, she said; who was greatly sur- 
prised at her_constancy, and he sent, the same person 
with it to a relation at Bologna, desiring her, without 


revealing whose child it was, to, see it carefully brought 


up and, educated. | Afterwards the lady became with 
child the second time, ‘and was delivered of a son, at 
which. he was extremely pleased. But, not satisfied with 
what he had already. done, he began to grieve and per- 
secute her still more; saying one day to her, seemingly 


548 THE DECAMERON 


much out of temper, “Since thou hast brought me this 
son, I am able to live no longer with my people; for 
they mutiny to that degree, that a poor shepherd’s 
grandson is to succeed, and be their lord after me, that, 
unless I would run the risk of being driven out of my 
dominions, I must be obliged to dispose of this child 
as I did the other; and then to send thee away, in 
order to take a wife more suitable to.me.” She heard 
this with a great deal of resignation, making only this 
reply: ‘‘ My lord, study only your own ease and happiness, 
without the least care for me; for nothing is agreeable to 
me but what is pleasing to yourself.” Not many days after, 
he sent for the son in the same manner as he had done for 
the daughter; and, seeming alsp as if he had procured him 
to be destroyed, had him conveyed to Bologna, to be taken 
care of with the daughter. This she bore with the same 
resolution as before, at which the prince wondered greatly, 
declaring to himself that no other woman was capable of 
doing the like. And, were it not that he had observed her 
extremely fond of her children, whilst that was agreeable to 
him, he should have thought it want of affection in her; 
but he saw.it was only her entire obedience and con- 
descension. ‘The people, imagining that the children were 
both put to death, blamed him to the last degree, thinking 
him the most cruel of men, and showing great com- 
passion for the lady. Who, whenever she was in company 
with the ladies of her acquaintance, that they condoled 
with her for her loss, she would only say, ‘It was not my 
will, but his who begot them.” But more years being now 
passed, and he resolving to make the last trial of her 
patience, declared, before many people, that he could no 
longer bear to keep Griselda as his wife, owning that he 
had done very foolishly, and like a young man, in 
marrying her, and that he meant to solicit the pope for 
a dispensation to take another, and send her away: for 
which he was much blamed by many worthy persons; 
but he said nothing in return, only that it should be so. 
She, hearing this, and expecting to go home to her 
father’s, and possibly tend the cattle as -1« bad done 
before; whilst she saw some other lady possessed of him 





TENTH DAY 549 


whom she dearly loved and honoured, was perhaps secretly 
grieved ; but as she had withstood other strokes of fortune, 
so she determined resolutely to do now. Soon afterwards, 
Gualtieri had counterfeit letters come to him, as from Rome, 
acquainting all his people that his holiness thereby dis- 
pensed his marrying another, and turning away Griselda; 
he had her brought before them, when he said, ‘‘ Woman, by 
the pope’s leave I may dispose of thee, and take another 
wife. As my ancestors, then, have been all sovereign 
princes of this country, and thine only peasants, I intend 
to keep thee no longer, but to send thee back to thy father’s 
cottage, with the same portion which thou broughtest me; 
and afterwards to make choice of one more suitable in 
quality to myself.” It was with the utmost difficulty she 
could now refrain from tears; and she replied, ‘‘ My lord, I 
was always sensible that my servile condition would no way 
accord with your high rank and descent. For what I have 
been, I own myself indebted to Providence and you; I con- 
sidered it as a favour lent me: you are now pleased to 
demand it back; I, therefore, willingly restore it. Behold 
the ring with which you espoused me; I deliver it to you. 
You bid me take the dowry back which I brought you; you 
will have no need for a teller to count it, nor I for a 
purse to put it in, much less a sumpter-horse to carry it 
away ; for I have not forgotten that you took me naked: 
and if you think it decent to expose that body which has 
borne you two children in that manner, I am contented ; 
but I would entreat you, as a recompense for my virginity, 
which I brought you, and do not carry away, that you would 
please to let me have one shift over and above my dowry.” 
He, though ready to weep, yet put on a stern countenance, 
and said, “‘ Thou shalt have one only then.” And notwith- 
standing the people all desired that she might have an old 
gown, to keep her body from shame who had been his wife 
thirteen years and upwards, yet it was all in vain. So she 
left his palace in that manner, and returned weeping to her 
‘ather’s, to the great grief of all who saw her. The poor 
an, never supposing that the prince would keep her long 
his wife, and expecting this thing to happen every day, 
_¢ safely laid up the garments of which she had been 


a i 
Oe 


oR a rn ee Ty 































S50 THE DECAMERON 


despoiled the day he espoused her. He now brought then 
to her, and she put them on,. and went as usual. aboul 
her father’s little household affairs, bearing this fierce trial 
of adverse fortune with the greatest courage. imaginable. 
The prince then gave it out that he was to espouse a 
daughter, of one of the Counts of Panago; and, seeming as 
if he made great preparation for his nuptials, he sent for 
Griselda to come to him,,and said to her, “I am going to” 
bring this lady home whom I have just married, and intend 
to show her all possible respect, at her first coming : thou : 
knowest that I have no women with me able to set out the | 
rooms, and do many, other things which are requisite on ‘con | 
solemn an occasion. _ As, therefore, thou art best acqtiainted — 
with the state of the house,. I would have thee make such — 
provision as thou shalt judge proper, and invite what ladies — 
thou wilt, even as though thou wert mistress of the house; _ 
and when the marriage is ended, return thee home to thy — 
father’s again,” ‘Though these words pierced. like daggers 
to the heart of Griselda; who was unable to part with Here 
love for the prince_so easily as she had done her great 
fortune, yet she teplied, “My lord, I am ready to fulfil all 
your commands.” She then went into the palace, in her 
coarse attire, from whence she had but just before departed ‘ 
in her shift, and with her own hands did she begin to SWEEP, — 
and set all the rooms to rights, cleaning the stools and — 
benches in the hall like the meanest servant, and directing _ 
what was to be done in the kitchen, never giving over +11 
everything was in order, and as it ought to be. After this’ wa: } 
done, she invited, in the prince’s name, all the ladies in the — 
country. to, come to the feast. _And on the day appointec 
for the marriage, meanly clad as she was, she received then © 
in the most genteel and cheerful manner imaginable. © __ 
Now Gualtieri, who had. his children. carefully broug gb 

up at Bologna (the g girl being about. twelve years old, sa 
one of the prettiest creatures that ever was seen, and. th 
boy six), had sent to his kinswoman there, to desire s’ 
would bring them, with an honourable retinue, to. Saluz 
giving it out all.the way she came that she was bringing 
young lady to be married to him, without nine any 
know to the contrary, ney 


fi . TENTH, DAY,. 551 
é 


Accordingly, ae all set forwards, attended by a goodly 

> train of gentry; and, after travelling some days, reached 
_ Saluzzo, about dinner- time, when they found the whole 
Bune assembled, waiting to see their new lady. The 

, young lady was most, graciously received by all the women 
: present ; and being come into the hall where the tables 
were all covered, Griselda, meanly dressed as she was, went 

q cheerfully to meet her, saying, “ Your ladyship. is. most 


kindly: welcome.” ‘The'ladies, who had greatly importuned 
the prince, though to no purpose, to let Griselda be in a 
room by herself, or else that she might have some of her 
own clothes, and not appear before strangers in that manner, 
were now seated, and going to be served round ; whilst the 
young lady was universally admired, and every one said that 
the prince had made a good change; but. Griselda in 
i particular highly commended both her ‘and her_ brother. 
_ The marquis now thinking that he had seen enough with 
regard to his wife’s patience, and perceiving that in all her 
trials she was still the same, being persuaded likewise that 
this proceeded. from no want of understanding in’ her, 
because he knew her to be singularly prudent, he thought 
_ it time to take her from that anguish -which he supposed 
_ she might conceal under her firm and constant deportment. 
So, making her come before all the company, he said, with 
‘\ a smile, “ What thinkest thou, Griselda, of my. bride?” 
a lord,” she replied, “T like her extremely well; and if 
she bi as prudent ; as she is fair, you may be the happiest man 
in the world with her: but I most humbly beg you would 
_ not.take those heart-breaking measures with this lady as you 
_ did with your last wife; because she is young, and has 
been tenderly educated, whereas the other was inured to 
_ hardships from a child. 

Gualtieri perceiving, that though Griselda thought that 
_ person was to. be his wile, that’ she nevertheless answered 
_’ him with great humility and sweetness of temper, he made 
her sit down by him, and said, “ Griselda, it is now time 
_ for you to reap the fruit, of your long patience, and that 
they who have reputed me to be cruel, unjust, and a 
monster in nature, may know that what I have done has 
aes been all ‘along with a view to teach you how to behave as a 


¢ 





552 THE DECAMERON 


wife; to show them how to choose and keep a wife; and 
lastly, to secure my own ease and quiet as long as we live 
together, which I was apprehensive might have been en- 
dangered by my marrying. Therefore I had a mind to 
prove you by harsh and injurious treatment ; and not being 
sensible that you have ever transgressed my will, either in 
word or deed, I now seem to have met with that happiness 
I desired: I intend, then, to restore in one hour what I have 
taken away from you in many, and to make you the sweetest 
recompense for the many bitter pangsI have caused you to 
to suffer. Accept, therefore, this young lady, whom you 
thought my spouse, and her brother, as your children and 
mine. ‘They are the same which you and many others be- 
lieved that I had been the means of cruelly murdering ; 
and I am your husband, who love and value you above all 
things ; assuring myself that no person in the world can be 
happier in a wife than I am.” 


With this he embraced her most affectionately, when, — 


rising up together, she weeping for joy, they went where 


their daughter was sitting, quite astonished with these 


things, and tenderly saluted both her and her brother, 
undeceiving them and the whole company. At this the 
women all arose, overjoyed, from the tables, and taking 
Griselda into the chamber, they clothed her with her own 
noble apparel, and as a marchioness, resembling such an 
one even in rags, and brought her into the hall. And being 
extremely rejoiced with her son and daughter, and every 
one expressing the utmost satisfaction at what had come to 
pass, the feasting was prolonged many days. The marquis 


was judged a very wise man, though abundantly too severe, re 
and the trial of his lady most intolerable; but as for Griselda, 


she was beyond compare. In a few days the Count de 


Panago returned to Bologna, and the marquis took Gian- _ 
nucolo from his drudgery, and maintained him as his _ 
father-in-law, and so he lived very comfortably to a good ae 


old age. 


Gualtiet afterwards married his daughter to one of equal 4 


nobility, continuing the rest of his life with Griselda, and 
showing her all the respect and honour that was possible. 
What can we say, then, but that divine spirits may descend _ 





ay 
) - 


TENTH DAY ° §53 


‘om heaven into the meanest cottages ; whilst royal palaces 
hall produce such as seem rather adapted to have the care 
f hogs, than the government of men. Who but Griselda 
ould, not only without a tear, but even with seeming satis- 
ction, undergo the most rigid and unheard of trials of her 
usband? Many women there are who, if turned out of 
oors naked in that manner, would have procured them- 
elves fine clothes, adorning at once their own persons and 
aeir husbands’ brows. 

Dioneus’s novel, which was now concluded, was much 
anvassed by the company, this blaming one thing, and 
hat commending another, according to their respective 
ancies; when the king, seeing the sun was now far in the 
rest, and that the evening drew on apace, said, without 
ising from his seat, ‘‘I suppose you all know, ladies, that 

person’s sense and understanding consist, not only in 
smembering things past, or knowing the present; but to 
e able, by both these means, to foresee what is to come, 
, by the more knowing part of mankind, judged the greatest 


roof of wisdom. To-morrow, you are sensible, it will have 


een fifteen days since we, by way of amusement, and for 
\e preservation of our lives, came out of Florence, avoid- 
g all those cares and melancholy reflections which con- 
ually haunted us in the city, since the beginning of that 
tal pestilence. And, in my opinion, we have done honestly 
id well. For, though some light things have been talked 
, and a loose given to all sorts of innocent mirth, yet am 
not conscious of anything blameworthy that has passed 
nong us; but everything has been decent, everything 
irmonious, and such as might well beseem the community 
brothers and sisters. 

Lest, therefore, something should happen, which might 
ve us uneasiness, and make people put a bad construction 
‘on our being so long together, now all have had their 


_ys, and their shares of honour, which at present rests in 


>, I hold it most advisable for us to return from whence 
‘came. Besides, as people know of our being together, 
r company may probably increase, which would make it 


_tirely disagreeable. If you approve of it, then, I will 


ep the power till to-morrow, that we depart; but if you 














554 THE DECAMERON 


resolve otherwise, I have a person in my eye to stcheed, | 
me.” This occasioned great debates, but at last. it was 
thought safest and best to comply with the king. He con- 
sequently called’ the master of the household, and, after 
giving proper directions for ‘the next morning, dismissed | 
them all till supper- time.’ They ncw betook themselves, as | 
usual, some to one thing, and some to another, for their 
amusement; and, when the hour came, supped very agree 
ably together, after ‘which they began’ their’ music ; and 
whilst Lauretta led up a dance, the king ordered F lammetta 
to sing a song, which she did in a pretty, i ae manner, as 
follows :-— : 


SONG Re akillte, sir ba 
CHORUS cK 


Did love no jealous cares inf on oye 
No eywph on.earth would be so biesta ae 


oo ae “4 os 
|» Ef sprightliness, and blooming si 
An easy and polite address, 
Strict honour, and regafd for truth, | 
Are charms which may command succens # 
Then sure you will’my choice approve, » 
For these ali centre in my love, . ' 
CuoRus,; \Did love, &e. * 
Worniltyrre 4 
But when I see’ what arts are tried, 
By nymphs as fair and wise asf, 
A thousand fears my heart betide, ae 
_. Lest they should rob me of my, joy: 
Thus that iter which I triumph’d so” 
Becomes the causeof all my woes © > ae 


Cuorus. Did love, &e. 


UI 


Would he prove firm to my desi, he piss a 
» No more'l should myself pipiens * OPO \6 
; ‘But virtues like to his inspire yy sais 
es _ The same regard i in all our Sex: 4 (‘cubed 
Hg a 


TENTH DAY 555 


This makes me dread what nymph be nigh, 
And watch each motion of his eye. 


CuHorvus. Did love, &e. 


lv 
Hence, then, ye damsels, I implore, 
As you regard what’s just and ft, 
That you, by am’rous wiles, no more 
This outrage on my love commit : 
EKor know, whilst thus you make me grieve, 
You shall repent the pain you give. 





CHORUS 


Did love no jealous cares infest, 
No nymph on earth would be so blest. 
« 


ty 
| As soon as Flammetta had finished her song, Dioneus, 
who sat close to her, laughed, and said, ‘‘ Madam, it would 
be kind to let ladies know whom you mean, for fear some 
other should take possession out of ignorance, and you have 
cause to be offended.” ‘This song was followed by many 
others, and, it now drawing near midnight, they all went, 
at the king’s command, to repose themselves. By break 
of day they arose, and, the master of the household having 
sent away their carriages, returned, under the conduct oi 
their discreet king, to Florence, when the three gentlemen 
left the seven ladies in New St. Mary’s Church, where they 
first met, going from thence where it was most agreeable 
to themselves; and the ladies, when they thought fit, 
repaired to theiz several houses. 





THE END. 


Printed in England at THE BALLANTYNE PRESS 
SPOTTISWOODE, BALLANTYNE & Co. LTD. 
Colchester, London & Bion 












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